The Hound and His Lady
by Karen Regal
Summary: Sandor Clegane has been forced into a marriage he wants nothing to do with, and his new wife feels exactly the same way. She finds him to be too vulgar and a brute, and Sandor doesn't quite understand her ridiculous need for baths. They're a true example of beauty and the beast, and after much trial and error, they find something that wasn't there before.
1. Chapter 1

Sandor Clegane knew King Joffrey was brewing a wicked plan in that psychotic mind of his.

On this particular morning, he arrived to escort the young king from his quarters to the throne room and His Grace was yelling at the top of his lungs at his tailor. Something about his trousers being too tight. Sandor just waited at the doorframe as he watched the poor tailor gather his fabrics and box of sewing tools before shuffling past him. The Hound wondered how Joffrey could find his trousers too tight; he doesn't have a cock to begin with.

"Ah dog," the blonde boy greeted him. Sandor only bowed his head and allowed him to exit the room before following at his heels. That's when he saw it: that psychotic grin he spreads across his inbred face when he's come up with something he deems intelligent, or cruel, or humorous—or all three.

Sandor rolled his eyes and forced himself to ignore it. And he wished he fucking hadn't.

The moment he sat his arse on that throne, he snapped his fingers at Ser Meryn. "Summon my tailor."

Sandor sighed. It was too early to have to mop up blood in the Great Hall.

The poor tailor was pulled into the throne room. He was a frail, middle-aged man dressed too humbly to be the royal tailor. His black hair was tussled on his head, indicating Meryn man-handled him around before dragging him into the throne room, and his clear blue eyes were wide with fear. Sandor could tell the man was seeing his life flash before his own eyes.

"Your Grace…" he mumbled, bowing to the child king. Joffrey's grin widened at the man's submission, "You didn't think you wouldn't get punished for this morning, did you?"

"Of course not, Your Grace," he let out.

"Now, what could be your punishment…?" Joffrey laughed cruelly. Sandor rolled his eyes. The king was stalling: he already knew the man's punishment but was doing so for dramatic effect. Sandor hated when people stalled: just slit his throat and be done with it.

"Your Grace, please!" the tailor begged.

"Silence!" Joffrey screeched, his voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. "I know your punishment already."

Joffrey paused for theatric flair before asking, "You have a daughter, isn't that right?"

Sandor never saw so much horror on a man's face—not even the guarantee of death compared. The tailor stammered, "Y-Your Grace…"

"Answer me!"

"Y-Yes…" he whispered. "She's all I have after my wife—"

"Is she married?" he asked, stalling a bit more for his amusement. Sandor frowned slightly. What the fuck was this moron planning?

"No, Your Grace," he was trembling.

"Excellent!" Joffrey cackled like the fires lighting the torches around him. "I have found your daughter the perfect husband!"

He stood from the throne and, to Sandor's disgust, felt the king pat the armor on his back, "A bitch like your daughter can only marry a dog! Isn't that right, dog?"

_This fucking cunt._

"Your Grace!" the tailor pipped up. "Please!"

"It's decided!" Joffrey laughed hysterically. "It's about time my dog mounts a bitch!"

What the fuck did he do to deserve this shit? He has enough trouble taking care of this cunt for a king and making sure he doesn't swallow his own tongue.

Sandor watched the poor tailor get dragged out of the Great Hall as Joffrey dictated his orders officially on paper to Grand Maester Pycelle. Sandor just watched on silently, having nothing to say. How could he? Deny the king and he would have his head on a spike—and he wasn't about to die over a marriage this idiot cooked up on his walk from his bedchamber to the Great Hall.

He figured the king forgot about the wedding announcement—hell, he prayed he did. But the cunt didn't forget and in a week's time, he had Sandor's future father-in-law forcefully make him something decent to wear that wasn't armor and sew him a black and yellow cloak with the Clegane sigil for the ceremony. It was a cruel joke to have the man tailor clothes for the Hound that is to marry and deflower his daughter, and Sandor found no words to say to him. He just drank wine as the tailor measured him and picked out fabrics to sew together for the wedding.

He didn't meet the girl until the wedding day. Joffrey purposefully forbade his servants to serve Sandor wine before the ceremony, so he would be sober throughout the entire thing. He wanted to strangle everyone in this fucking sept. Seeing Joffrey's grin made his blood boil.

When the doors of the sept opened revealing his bride and her father the royal tailor, Sandor really wanted the earth to swallow him whole. The girl was no older than twenty-three with beautiful features, bright strawberry blonde hair swirling in soft waves, and eyes like the clear blue skies above the sept. She was petite and delicate like a porcelain doll, with flawless skin to match, and the ivory dress she wore only made her look more innocent than she was. Sandor asked the Seven what cruel irony this was—a hideous and murderous dog like himself paired with a delicate and lovely doll like her! She didn't deserve this. And neither did he, honestly.

When she stood next to him, she was shorter than his collarbone.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

He placed the black and yellow cloak over her shoulders and he noted how small her frame was. He could snap her in two with a single flick. By the Gods, he wished he had wine as he stood there and listened to the septon go on and on about marriage and the Gods. Her hand was so small compared to his as the septon tied a ribbon around it and he tried not to hold her so tight—he felt he could break her delicate hand if he squeezed just a little.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. Let it be known that Celeste Beauron and Sandor of House Clegane are one heart, one flesh, and one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

So that's her name.

Sandor grumbled through his vows and then grimaced when she spoke hers softly, her voice like the sweetest honey and the richest wine. This _must_ be a joke! She'll probably turn into a Frey girl after midnight!

He had to lean down to kiss her, though it wasn't much of a kiss—he just pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth and quickly recoiled before she had a chance to.

The ceremony ended and the feast in the Red Keep began. At least he had wine now, which he gulped like a madman to dull his displeasure over the entire affair. His new wife looked just as disheartened, though she was much subtler about it, he noticed, as any lady would. She barely touched her food and jumped when he slammed his glass on the table and shouted for more wine.

Just before he could get nastily drunk—the drunk where one doesn't even remember his own name—Joffrey stood and announced in glee, "Let us bed them!"

"Fucking hell," he muttered as the men began to approach his tiny wife, grabbing her and pulling her out of her chair. She looked horrified and was trying her best not to look as if she wanted it all to stop probably to avoid offending the king. Sandor, on the other hand, was not surprised to see the women attending his wedding were eyeing each other anxiously, as none of them wanted to come near him or even touch him.

He sighed heavily, guzzled down the rest of his wine, and stood from his chair. He approached the men tugging at his wife's clothes and barked to shoo them away, "I know how to fuck a woman—I don't need help!"

The men quickly let her go. Sandor was able to grab her and swing her over his broad shoulder like a pillow filled with feathers. The crowd cheered along with Joffrey, and the Hound could do nothing more than scowl and hurry towards his bedchamber to finally leave that godforsaken wedding.

When he entered the new bedchamber he'd been given for him and his new wife, he kicked the door closed, put her down on her feet, and went straight for the hearth in the room. He reached for the pitcher of wine, poured himself a cup, and slouched on one of the velvet armchairs to drink it.

The crackling and popping of the fire and the sound of wine being poured into his goblet filled the room. It was roughly ten minutes before he heard the rustle of skirts behind him. He figured his wife got the message: he had no intention of fucking her and only wanted to get drunk.

"Is that all you will do tonight?" her sweet voice asked. Sandor sighed. Apparently, she didn't get the fucking message.

"I'm not going to fuck you," he told her. "Leave me be and go to bed—I won't touch you."

There was another moment of silence before she spoke again. "But what are we to do?"

Sandor rolled his eyes and growled. Beauty with no brains—classic combination. "Did you not hear me, woman? I'm not going to fuck you."

"Yes, I understood that—and I thank you," she snapped. "I mean, people will talk, and the king will be displeased if the marriage he so graciously arranged has gone unconsummated."

Her words encouraged him to turn his head. She was sitting at the edge of the bed in a nightgown and she was running her fingers through her long hair resting over her right shoulder. Her wedding dress was thrown over a nearby chair and the heels she'd worn were neatly tucked underneath the vanity in the room. Sandor scoffed, "What do you fucking suggest then, woman?"

"If we're to stay in the king's good graces, we'll need to maintain a façade," she narrowed her blue eyes. "But the façade can only succeed if we're both on the same page."

"Right," he mumbled. "I'll brag I fucked you. Is that what you want?"

He watched her stand and go towards the vanity, take her shoes and toss them across the room near the bed. She then grabbed her wedding dress and approached him, holding it out to him, "I need you to tear it."

"Aren't ladies very sensitive about their dresses and skirts?" he joked dryly.

"Yes," she nodded. "But dogs aren't. You came in here, put me down, and ripped my dress open before having me, correct?"

He stared up at her, impressed with her firm yet very feminine way of speaking to him, and put his goblet down to take the dress and rip it down the back. He tossed it back to her, "Anything else the dog needs to rip apart?"

She looked up in thought for a second before asking, "What part of me would you grab to hold me down?"

He scowled, "I'm no rapist, woman."

"I'm not suggesting you are," she shook her head. "And clearly you are not, but King's Landing_ thinks_ you are."

"Your arms," he pointed out. She nodded and rolled up her nightgown's sheer sleeve. "Squeeze my arm as if I ran from you. My maids will see the bruise when they dress me tomorrow and will surely spread the word."

He glared up at her, but she insisted, "I'm doing all the thinking, so just do as I say so we can both keep our heads attached."

He did as he was told, squeezing her arm though not as tight for fear he'd break it—she kept telling him to do so tighter until she told him to stop. A large and red hand print was visible on her flawless pale skin.

"Now…" she trailed off and dashed to her vanity. Sandor watched as she ingeniously grabbed a hairbrush and began running the bristles quite harshly over her neck and collarbone. "You have a beard so we must take that into consideration."

She jumped from the vanity onto the bed and pulled the covers from it. She rustled the sheets to make them appear messy and tossed pillows to the floor before turning to him, "Can you hand me the knife on the table?"

"You're going to tear the sheets?" he asked, taking the knife and standing to hand it to her. She shook her head, "No. We need proof the consummation happened."

Sandor's eyes widened when he saw her take the knife and poke the skin on her index finger with the fine point. Before any blood came through, he snatched it from her. "I'll fucking do it."

He cut a small incision on his thumb, letting the blood ooze out a bit before wiping it off on the ivory white sheets. He licked his wound like the dog he is before grumbling, "There. We fucked."

"You were amazing, husband," she joked dryly. Sandor scoffed and went back to his chair and his wine.


	2. Chapter 2

The word spread like wildfire, like she knew it would. Her maids saw the red marks on her neck and the bruise on her arm when they helped her change into her day clothes. They looked at each other sadly when they saw the blood stains on the mangled sheets and the torn dress thrown on the floor. Her husband was obviously not present when the maids arrived: she heard him leave just before sunrise for his shift on guard duty. He didn't sleep in the bed and just dozed off on the armchair in front of the fire when the wine ran out.

"Will that be all, m'lady?" one of the maids asked. Celeste nodded softly and forced herself to speak in a raspy voice, "Yes, thank you."

They looked horrified, the poor girls. They most likely pass by the Hound as they rush through the corridors of the Red Keep and can't imagine what it must be like to be that man's wife.

Celeste wouldn't know either, to be honest.

She didn't leave the room all day, just to sell it a bit more. She sat out in the balcony reading a novel before retreating into the room when the sun became too bright. The maids came in occasionally to bring her food and drink and she ate a little bit of everything, so it looked like she didn't eat much—it played into the entire act, she hoped.

It was the early evening when her husband stormed through the door. She looked up from the pages of her novel to see him go straight for the wine pitcher. He poured himself a drink as she greeted him, "Good evening."

He began chugging down his wine.

"How was your day?"

"What do you fucking care?"

Celeste frowned, "We're married. We should at least try to get along, Sandor."

He paused suddenly and eyed her fixedly before mumbling, "It was shite—and how was your day acting like a battered fucking wife?"

"Ah, so people talked?" she smiled.

"Of course they talked—that's all these bastards do," he growled. "They asked me how you fucked and how many times I fucked you and if you bled and if you cried and if you vomited."

"And what did you say?"

"I told them to fuck off,"

She laughed. "Good answer."

Celeste watched him sink into his seat by the fire. She felt the need to say, "I told the maids to bring an extra plate for you. It's on the table if you're hungry."

"The fuck would you do that for?"

Celeste was becoming annoyed with his cynicism. "Because I assumed you'd be hungry when you returned. Can you just say thank you, even if you don't appreciate it?"

He just grunted in response. Celeste sighed, "I'm going to bed. Good night, Sandor."

He remained silent.

The days were repetitive. She didn't see much of Sandor except in the early mornings or in the evenings. She left her room on the third day, and she felt people's stares were going to rip her apart. Celeste couldn't imagine the thoughts running through people's heads: such a delicate woman in the rabid jaws of an enormous dog that killed at the first smell of blood. She visited her father, who was so guilty and grief-stricken, he looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in days.

"I've heard the rumors…" he mumbled. "I can't bear to think—"

"Father," Celeste took his hand in reassurance. "I assure you I'm fine. He's actually very pleasant."

She wouldn't say Sandor is pleasant—he is vulgar and cusses every other word, grunts when he doesn't feel like speaking, drinks wine constantly, and doesn't bathe for days at a time. Despite his dreadful attitude, he doesn't pay attention to her and has kept his word—he hasn't touched her. But she couldn't tell her father that; it was best she let him think Sandor was being gentle than know the marriage has gone unconsummated.

Meanwhile, somewhere in King's Landing, Sandor Clegane was getting his rocks off.

"Oh yes! You're so bloody good!"

Sandor rolled his eyes at her obvious lie. He pushed the prostitute's head into the pillow as he rammed into her from behind, "I told you to shut your mouth, whore."

He finished with a loud groan before pulling away. As he fixed his trousers, he watched as the young prostitute sat up on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. It reminded him of Celeste—she had the habit of combing her hair with her fingers as well.

"Here," Sandor tossed her four gold coins he fished out of his pocket. The woman frowned at him. "I said it would be six."

"And I said to shut the fuck up and you didn't," he grabbed his sword. "So you get four."

Sandor made his way back to the Red Keep in the darkness and trudged down the corridors towards his shared bedchamber. He barged right in and was met with the sight of Celeste, bare as her Nameday, in a tub of steaming water. The surprised yelp and splashing of water came right after, her arms covering her chest and her eyes wide in embarrassment. "Can't you knock?"

"It's my fucking room," he grunted, shutting the door. He paid her no mind—she was beautiful with that flawless skin and wet strands of strawberry curls clinging to her long neck, and he'd enjoy fucking her till the end of his days—but he was already satisfied for the night and went for the wine pitcher.

"You didn't even bat an eye," she mused. "I admire your self-restraint."

Sandor let out a sardonic laugh as he sat on his favorite armchair facing the fireplace, "Don't flatter yourself, woman. I just fucked a whore."

"Oh, that explains it,"

Sandor frowned and looked over his shoulder at her. She was running a washcloth over her arm and shoulder nonchalantly. Did she smell the cheap perfume on him? Did she somehow guess he'd fucked a whore by the look in his eye? Was his armor askew? Why did he give a shite what she thought or how she knew?

"What the fuck are you on about?" he spat in annoyance. Celeste ran her fingers through her wet tresses as she replied, "Ser Meryn was with King Joffrey this evening, and you usually arrive much earlier. I assumed you were on an assignment for the king, but I assumed incorrectly."

He scoffed, "Like you give a shite if I fuck a whore."

"Well, as your wife I must," she said. "But I'll act ignorant of your infidelity to save you the sight of my crying. And I trust you're being discrete."

Sandor grunted a swigged his wine. He heard the water in the tub ripple before Celeste called out to him, "Can you please hand me the towel?"

"Get it yourself," he spat.

"I'm asking nicely. I don't want to wet the floor," she insisted.

Sandor rolled his eyes and pulled himself out of his chair, grabbed the towel and held it out to her as he turned his head to the side for her sake. She took it and wrapped herself in it, "Thank you, Sandor."

It felt so strange to hear someone call him by his given name—he's been called the Hound and dog for so long, he'd almost forgotten the sound of it. He grunted in response and made his way back to his chair, sinking into it.

"You're supposed to say _you're welcome_,"

"Fuck off,"

"The water is still hot—you should bathe."

"Bathing is for cunts," he responded, shocked she even spoke those words to him, "And I don't take orders from you, woman."

"It's a tempered suggestion," she said carefully, "That perfume doesn't suit you."

The smell of the perfume_ was_ driving him fucking mad, he had to admit.


	3. Chapter 3

Celeste always kept her ears open for rumors since Sandor wasn't one to care for such things. As the daughter of the royal tailor, she's been around too many royals and nobles to know that gossip, especially about unconsummated marriages, could destroy people's very lives. In her and Sandor's case, their heads could be on spikes for disrespecting the king. So far, there were no rumors she was aware of until her father unwittingly made her realize a fault in the sham that is her marriage.

"One of the ladies of the court is expecting," he mentioned as he poured her more tea. "Her waistline is growing by the week—it's very stressing, especially since His Grace is very fussy with his robes."

"If you need help, you may call for me," Celeste smiled. "I'm a lady now, but I can still sew; I learned from the best, after all."

"That you did," he chuckled.

Celeste returned to her bedchamber that evening and bathed to clear her mind. She and Sandor have lasted this long under their façade, and she wasn't about to let any loose ends spark a revolution of rumors about the Hound's very intriguing marriage. She stepped out of the bath when the water became tepid, dressed in a nightgown, and waited anxiously for Sandor to return. When he finally arrived, he reeked of that whore's perfume—_again_. Celeste rolled her eyes at the scent, and Sandor caught on quickly. "Jealous, woman?"

"Jealous of what, exactly?"

"Me fucking someone that isn't you," he smirked egotistically and began untying his armor.

"We need to talk," she began firmly. Sandor grunted as he tossed his armor to the floor with a hefty clank, "Then fucking talk, woman."

"We've been married for some time…" she began, her words slowing down as she watched him undress nonchalantly. She was usually sleeping by the time he returned to their room and never saw him fully undressed. It doesn't surprise her that he wouldn't care to be naked before her, but she didn't expect for him to be so dismissive about it considering he respects her chastity.

"And?"

She cleared her throat as a blush began to creep onto her cheeks. His chest was broad and massive, and the dark hair scattered over his skin gave him an aura of masculinity and ruggedness that she found oddly attractive. "If we perform the duties of husband and wife regularly, as we've implied we have, then—Sandor!"

She covered her eyes when he tossed his trousers aside, leaving him completely naked. He chuckled wolfishly at her reaction, "What? Never seen a cock?"

"No! Gods, have you no modesty?" she scoffed, her eyes still covered.

"Fuck that shit," he grumbled. "You can fucking look, woman."

"I'd rather not," her voice stammered. "Can you please get in the water so I can continue? This is important!"

She heard the water splash and she opened her eyes to see Sandor in the tub. That water must be frozen by now.

"What the fuck is so important?" he spat.

"We've been married and presumably sleeping together as husband and wife," she reiterated. "And I am not with child."

"Oh, that's a fucking conundrum," he splashed his face with water. "Last I checked, the only way a woman can pop a bastard out is by getting roundly fucked."

"I have a plan, so all you have to do is play along," she sighed. "Can you do that?"

"Aye, just hand me the fucking wine, woman," he pointed at the pitcher in the room. Celeste jumped off her chair, poured the goblet to the brim, and handed it to him—making sure to look away as she approached the tub. She heard him scoff, "You're going to have to see a cock eventually."

"Not yours, I hope," she spat, annoyed by his gruffness. He said nothing and gulped his wine.

The plan his pretty wife had brewed up in her head remained a mystery to him. He agreed with her only so she would shut up and he could get on with getting drunk in peace. It'd been a fortnight since that day and truth be told, Sandor had forgotten about their conversation. They rarely spoke to each other, and the little times they did are blurry in his head—he usually gets drunk and doesn't know fact from fiction.

It was a bright morning when Meryn Trant passed him in a corridor and sneered, "Can't imagine the hound dog that poor wife of yours will give birth to—it'll probably eat her from the inside."

Sandor stopped in his tracks and it took all his willpower not to rip this man's throat out, "What the fuck are you on about?"

"Haven't you heard?" he scoffed. "Lady Clegane is with child."

Sandor stormed into their bedchamber that night when his shift ended. Celeste sat near the fireplace on an armchair, her legs folded underneath her with a thick book on her lap. The light from the fire bounced off her form, making her nightgown look sheen and her eyes blaze like topazes as they moved side to side over the words in her novel.

"Who did you fuck?" he cried. Celeste looked up, "Jealous, Sandor?"

"Answer my fucking question!"

"Calm down," she spoke softly. Sandor frowned, "What the fuck is going on? I had Meryn fucking Trant of all cunts tell me you're expecting!"

"Keep your voice down," she placed a bookmark in her novel before closing it. "I told Grand Maester Pycelle I hadn't bled in a month, everything I ate made me nauseous, and that my chest was becoming enlarged and sore. He said those ailments were proof of being with child."

Sandor scoffed incredulously, "And he fucking believed you?"

"Maester Pycelle doesn't know pregnancy even if it punched him in the throat," she shrugged softly.

"So, what the fuck happens now?" he asked. "I pounce around like a happy expectant father with my thumb up my fucking arse?"

"That would be a sight to see," she joked. "You act as you normally do; I doubt the court is expecting you to be ecstatic. There are rumors about how your child will kill me because of how monstrous it will be."

"My mother gave birth to two fucking beasts and she fucking lived," he shrugged, and was shocked he blurted that out. The fuck was he doing talking about his family to her?

She smiled softly as she stood from her chair and brushed past him. "I'm sure your future children will be more honorable than anyone here in the Red Keep."

Sandor knew her words were sincere, and his chest fluttered as a result, but his cynicism quickly replaced the feeling as he replied, "The dirt under my fucking boots is more honorable than all of King's Landing."

She only laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

Sandor was standing guard just outside the Great Hall when it happened. A frantic maid appeared down the corridor, flushed and delirious.

"It's your wife!" she cried. Frowning, he followed the maid to his bedchamber. Outside the door, three more maids were congregated but they quickly scattered when they heard Sandor's clanking armor. Loud sobs were heard from inside the room, and when he entered, he was shocked.

Blood was everywhere: the bed, the floor, all over the carpet leading up to the fireplace where half of the sheets pulled from the bed were burning. Maester Pycelle was in the room, mumbling like a fool, and Celeste was sitting on the floor, her nightgown and hands drenched in blood, and tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

"Sandor! I'm—" she caught his eyes and sobbed again. "I'm sorry!"

"What the fuck is happening?" Sandor boomed, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Celeste didn't seem hurt—what in the hell was all this blood?

"Please, my lady, calm down…" Maester Pycelle soothed, reaching for her shoulder but she yanked herself away from his touch, "Leave me!"

"This sort of thing happens when the child is—"

"Leave me!"

The old maester sighed and began walking towards the door, gesturing for Sandor to follow him before turning to the maids, "Clean her up. She needs time to heal."

As the maids scattered to follow orders, Sandor followed the blubbering old man out into the corridor.

"She lost the child," he began. "I was called by a maid, saying she found Lady Clegane in a pool of blood and burning the bedsheets."

"Why the fuck would she do that?" the puzzle pieces began to fit into place in Sandor's head. This fucking woman!

"Women are very fragile when this occurs…they do incomprehensible things…" he explained. "She will bleed for a few more days before it stops. I suggest you don't…"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Sandor growled like he gave a shit about that.

"Give her time and space," he advised. "She will come around. I will have Essence of Nightshade be brought to her to calm her nerves."

With that, the old man wobbled down the corridor with the sounds of his chains echoing about. Sandor rolled his eyes and stormed back into his bedchamber, scaring the maids. He snapped, "Out!"

The maids scurried away, leaving their buckets of water, bloodied rags, and a sniffling Celeste in the room. The moment the door shut behind them, Celeste's demeanor completely changed. She wiped her tears with her clean sleeve as she spoke clearly, "Well, what do you think?"

"Fucking hell, woman," Sandor was still shocked at how even _he_ fell for it. He thought someone came in here and stabbed her bloody! "Did all this blood come out of you?"

"No, I stole a cannister of pig's blood from the kitchens after hours," she explained. "They always have them out by the stables after they slaughter them for dinner."

"Proud of yourself, are you?"

"Well, there will be no doubt about us now," she sighed, "Only thing is, now the rumors will favor me but not you. They'll pity me for my tragedy but probably say the Seven rid me of that demon you impregnated me with."

"The fucking rumors are never in my damned favor—this is no different," he sighed. He watched Celeste scan her eyes over his form, "Did I scare you, Sandor?"

He grunted. "Do I have to act like a depressed father now? Get drunk in grief?"

"You're normally drunk," she joked. "I would suggest you have a fouler mood…more than usual, anyway."

He shrugged indifferently.

As she predicted, the rumors were like wildfire. Celeste remained cooped up in the room, reading her novels and eating little. She'd make sure to force tears from herself occasionally, so her eyes would look puffy when maids walked in to bring her food and drink. The Essence of Nightshade given to her by the Grand Maester was poured little by little into the fireplace so he would note she was taking it to ease her nerves whenever he'd come to check on her. She made sure to burn the sheets, to explain the absence of the fetus that would've left her if she indeed had a true miscarriage. Her mother had plenty of them before she passed some years ago—she had two miscarriages before Celeste's birth and five more afterwards. For the last three, she was old enough to remember it. Celeste felt the Gods were bestowing a cruel irony on her: her mother suffered with this for so long and here she was pretending to lose an unborn child to save her head. Her father came around to see her and, although sad for her, was not surprised. Celeste knew he was reminiscing those hard times with her mother and resented the Gods for giving his only daughter his late wife's curse. Celeste prayed he was wrong, and that she would have strong children in the future.

Celeste jumped when Sandor entered the room reeking of that whore's perfume and burping loudly the moment the door closed behind him. He was drunk as usual and Celeste sadly told herself she'd never marry for love, as she always thought she would, or have children as long as Sandor Clegane was alive. And even if he did die, no one would want her after Sandor had her every which way as people have been led to believe.

Currently, on this hot summer day, Celeste sat under a fine tarp next to Sansa Stark as they celebrated King Joffrey's nameday in one of the courtyards of the Red Keep. She was invited, probably out of pity, as she has not been leaving her bedchamber too much since her supposed miscarriage.

As with everything the child king does, it must include violence, and he was hosting a tournament to see which knight can kill the other first. It wasn't long before His Grace called for his dog, and Sandor left her side underneath the tarp to fight. Though she'd heard stories of his brutality in battle, she'd never seen Sandor fight or even kill someone. It was impressive, she had to admit. It was frightening but also awe-inspiring.

Sandor, in his snarling hound helmet and dark heavy armor, knocked the shield out of the knight's grasp and pushed him roughly over the stone ledge of the wall the stood on. The knight fell to the lower floor of the courtyard in a sickening crunch of steel and bone.

"Well struck, dog!" King Joffrey called out, standing by the ledge. The blonde boy turned, looking straight at Sansa. "Did you like that?"

"It was well struck, Your Grace," she responded emotionlessly.

Celeste's attention drifted to Sandor, who wiped blood from his sword. She wondered how many people he's killed in his lifetime to be so nonchalant about killing for the king's amusement. She knows he has a mind of his own and doesn't follow orders blindly like Ser Meryn Trant. He does, however, know his place and follows orders regardless, especially Joffrey's, as seen with how willing he is to go along with their false marriage and her schemes to sink them further into their lie.

She turned her head when Sandor appeared at her side, holding the snarling hound helmet under his large arm. She stared at it in curiosity, awed by how simple yet effective it was in instilling fear into anyone who glanced at it for too long.

"What are you staring at, woman?" Sandor grumbled.

"I'm admiring your helmet," she replied.

He frowned as she met his eyes, seeing her smiling sweetly and batting her eyelashes. He knew what she wanted and with an exasperated sigh, held out the helmet to her.

"You're such a gentleman," she gasped in sarcasm. Sandor scoffed but said nothing.

The helmet was incredibly heavy and weighed down on her lap. However, her inspection of the helmet was interrupted when a fat knight, Ser Dontos, stumbled before the king and spoke in slurs. It was obvious he was drunk. Celeste would know.

"Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday," Joffrey smirked evilly. "See that he drinks his fill."

The fat knight was pushed into the courtyard by the Kingsguard, a funnel shoved into his mouth, and tipping a barrel of wine over it, they began drowning the poor man.

"You can't!" Sansa suddenly cried out.

"What did you say? Did you say _I can't?_" Joffrey asked her incredulously.

"I only meant…it would be bad luck to kill a man on your nameday…"

"What kind of stupid peasant's superstition—!"

"The girl is right," Sandor suddenly spoke up. Celeste was surprised—he doesn't get involved in much. "What a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year."

Joffrey called off the drowning of Ser Dontos and Celeste looked up at Sandor, smiling gratefully at him. "You truly _are_ a gentleman."

"You truly_ are_ a dumb woman," he spat back.

"Beloved nephew!"

Tyrion Lannister, the most famous dwarf in Westoros, walked into the courtyard and everyone gathered as if to see a show. He greeted Princess Myrcella with a kiss on the cheek and lightly joked with Prince Tommen, "And you! You're going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking!"

Celeste snickered softly as the dwarf took a sip of wine and glanced at Sandor, "This one doesn't like me."

"Can't imagine why," the man he walked in with scoffed lightly. To Celeste's surprise, Lord Tyrion caught her glance, "And who might you be?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but King Joffrey took the opportunity to speak for her, "She's my dog's bitch!"

The dwarf's eyes widened in shock, "You're married, Clegane? I had no idea."

He grunted in response, to which Lord Tyrion laughed as he winked at Celeste, "A real-life beauty and the beast, if I may say so. A pleasure, Lady Clegane."

"Likewise, Lord Tyrion," she smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Celeste began venturing out of her bedchamber a bit more since King Joffrey's nameday, and she wished she hadn't this morning. News of Robb Stark's army defeating the Lannister army in the latest battle reached King's Landing, and the child king was not pleased. He summoned the court and had Sansa Stark kneel before his throne as he threatened her with a crossbow. Celeste was horrified as she watched the young girl sob and beg for her life, and she could only eye her husband standing on the steps leading up to the throne. He could do nothing, but Celeste wished he would. For the girl's sake!

King Joffrey chose not to kill her for the Queen Mother had warned him against it, so he instead had Ser Meryn Trant punch her in the gut, hit her with the broad side of his sword, and tear open her lovely green dress to humiliate her.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Thankfully, Lord Tyrion arrived before the beating could go on. As he scolded his nephew for degrading the lady who would be his queen, Celeste was ever grateful her husband stepped down from his post, tore his cloak off, and placed it over Sansa Stark's shoulders. He looked up to meet her eyes briefly, and Celeste only smiled at him, silently thanking him for his kind gesture.

Lord Tyrion escorted Sansa Stark to the exit of the Great Hall and Celeste caught up to her in the corridor. "Lady Sansa, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she rolled her shoulders in discomfort. She was most likely sore from the beating. Celeste smiled sadly, "Come with me; we can have some tea in the gardens and I'll fix that dress for you—it's far too lovely."

Sansa's eyes widened in shock, but she nodded with a small smile. "Thank you, Lady Celeste."

Celeste and Sansa shared an afternoon together in the gardens, drinking freshly brewed tea and eating sweets. Celeste had brought her sewing kit and carefully fixed the jagged torn sleeve of her morning dress as Sansa spoke, "I love lemon cakes. They're my favorite!"

"My mother made the best honey cakes in Westeros," Celeste smiled. "I remember my father would go mad for them—he's got a sweet tooth like you."

"Do you miss her?" Sansa asked. "Your mother?"

"Of course; I miss her every day," she nodded. "She died of a fever. One day she was fine, and the other we were burying her. Death happens very quickly."

"I'm so sorry," she looked down in sadness. "I haven't seen my mother since I arrived in King's Landing. I miss her terribly."

"You'll see her again, don't you worry," Celeste encouraged her and tied off the last stitch. "There you are, my lady; good as new."

"Thank you!" she smiled brightly. "Can we do this again sometime?"

"Of course," Celeste nodded.

Sansa was a sweet girl, and it pained Celeste to have to see her tormented by everyone in the Red Keep. Celeste always managed to blend in with the royal court and keep her head down. With her marriage to Sandor, she's received massive notoriety but thankfully, no lords or ladies in the court torment her because they're all terrified of her husband. At least something good has come from being married to the Hound.

The rumor blazing through the palace this week has been Lord Tyrion's plan to wed Princess Myrcella to Doran Martell's eldest son in order to forge an alliance between them. The queen was less than pleased but could only stand and watch on the docks of King's Landing, watching Princess Myrcella sail off to Dorne to be married to the prince. They all stood by the harbor, watching as a septon prayed for Princess Myrcella's safe voyage. Celeste stood by Sansa and heard King Joffrey scoff when his little brother began to cry, "Princes don't cry."

"I saw you cry," Sansa suddenly said. Celeste was shocked she did so, but when the king questioned her, she immediately lied, "My little brother cried when I left Winterfell; it seems a normal thing."

"Your brother's not a prince! It's not really relevant, now is it?" King Joffrey then began making his way up the stone steps, brushing past Sandor on the way, "Come, dog."

Celeste saw a moment of hesitation in Sandor and the spark of hatred in his eyes before following His Highness. The court followed the king's steps and made their way back into the keep.

"Hail Joffrey!"

"Seven blessings, your Grace!"

The civilians began shouting towards the royal family and court as they walked. Celeste kept on walking, ignoring the whistles and taunts from the civilians.

Suddenly, a ball of shit was thrown into the crowd, hitting Joffrey right in the face. The Kingsguard all made a barrier around him and drew their swords. With Joffrey's cries of executing everyone, the civilians began to push against the soldiers and chaos ensued. Guards began beating civilians, stabbing them with their spears and swords. The people began fighting and screaming. It was mess of people and Celeste pushed her way through, finding a redhead she recognized as Sansa.

"Sansa!"

It fell on deaf ears. She tried to run, and she nearly tripped twice due to people stepping on her dress. As much as she loves dresses, she certainly sees they're less than practical in times of emergency.

Celeste stopped when a soldier punched a man who attacked him while another man lunged at the soldier and they both wrestled on the floor. The civilian managed to snap his neck, instantly killing the guard attempting to protect the court from the riot. The civilian, seemingly just looking for someone to fight, ran off to attack another guard. It wasn't hard to spot Sansa again with her now disheveled red hair. Celeste didn't know why she had an overwhelming need to protect the Stark girl.

"Sansa!"

She didn't hear her. Sansa was running along the stone walls of the city but stopped when a man stood in her way. Instinctively, she ran into the alley on her right. The man followed along with three others. Celeste dashed into the alley after them, walking in just in time to see one of the men tackle Sansa to the stone floor. Another began to rip her dress. The one man simply watching swiveled his head around and smirked wickedly upon seeing Celeste standing there. Celeste's stomach dropped. She didn't think this through.

He lunged for her, grabbing her and pulling her hair roughly. "We get to fuck two ladies today!"

Sansa began to scream, and Celeste struggled, tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched Sansa being held down and one of them settle between her legs. Suddenly, she felt a warm liquid splatter over her neck and face and when she opened her eyes, she saw Sandor tossing the man holding her onto the floor with his head bashed open. The one holding Sansa ran but Sandor grabbed him by the neck and stabbed him in the gut, his insides spewing out as he was tossed aside. Celeste watched as Sandor grabbed the last man, slitting his throat open and shoving his lifeless body to the ground. Her husband eyed her from top to bottom, quickly assessing her for injuries before approaching Sansa, helping her up before swinging her over his broad shoulder. He then walked to Celeste, his broad sword glistening with fresh blood, "Stay close, woman."

He led them back safely inside the Red Keep. He put Sansa down on a wooden bench, "Someone take the little bird to her cage. And see to that cut."

He turned to Celeste, watching her take a seat near him. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking," she shook her head. "Thank you, Sandor."

"You'd be raped and left with your throat cut open if it wasn't for me," he spat. Celeste let out a breath, her eyes wandering around the corridor before coming to a dreaded realization. She reached for Sandor, grabbing his gloved wrist, "Sandor, where's my father?"

Sandor swiveled his head around, his height allowing him full view of the room and to his dismay, the royal tailor was nowhere to be seen. He was with the rest of the court to see Princess Myrcella sail away to Dorne.

"Stay here," Sandor ordered her and disappeared back into the chaotic crowd outside. Celeste's heart wanted to burst out of her chest the moment she saw Sandor walk into the Red Keep again, tears streaming her cheeks. He returned alone.

"He's dead," Sandor told her.

"But—" Celeste's voice wavered, her legs taking her to the door leading to the riot outside. Sandor stopped her with his arm, "He's dead."

"But…" she sobbed, sinking to her knees. She couldn't make anymore words come out of her—she couldn't hold back the tears and the hiccups. She pressed her face against Sandor's leg, crying and digging her fingernails into his leather boots in frustration and grief. Sandor let out a slow sigh. What he saw out there was madness, and the people of King's Landing are starving all due to the war. They don't care whether they're eating pork, chicken, or human.

Sandor sheathed his sword and bent down to untangle her arms from his leg. Through her grief, she struggled against him, her tiny fists hitting his armored chest weakly. He swept her up in his arms and carried her through the corridors. She cried the entire way to their shared bedchamber and he ordered a nearby maid to prepare her a bath. Leaving her with the maids, he ventured out to the courtyard to make sure the riot was dealt with. By the time he returned, he entered to the room to see Celeste sitting in one of the armchairs in the room, eyes swollen and red and staring into the crackling hearth. Her stare was blank, something he never thought he'd see in those blue orbs.

He silently removed his armor and took a seat in the chair next to hers. It felt strange not to hear her usual _good evening_, greeting him like no one ever does. He supposes he won't be hearing her voice for a long time.

"Here," he handed her a goblet of wine. Celeste glanced at him emotionlessly before she took the goblet and sipped a bit of the wine. She sniffled, but no tears left her eyes. Sandor felt the need to say it, even though he dreaded it, "I'm sorry."

Celeste only nodded slowly.


	6. Chapter 6

If it wasn't for Sansa coming by every day to check on her and to take her for walks in the gardens and have tea with her, Celeste would've remained cooped up in her room. It became a silent habit to sit with Sandor by the hearth and share a cup of wine with him—though she always drank one while he drank at least six. She appreciated that he wasn't coming into their bedchamber every other night reeking of that whore's perfume.

"You're in good bloody spirits,"

Celeste looked up from her novel as Sandor walked into the room that evening. He began untying his armor and nodded towards the book in her hands, "You're reading that fucking book again for the fiftieth time."

"It's my favorite," she smiled softly. "And yes, I am feeling a bit better."

He grunted as he sunk into the cushions of the armchair. He poured a goblet of wine for himself and for her. "Here, woman."

"Thank you," she closed the book and sipped her wine. "Thank you for being patient with me."

"Don't fucking thank me, woman," he scoffed. "I hate that."

Celeste laughed softly. "I just thought you should know."

It was frightening to hear that Stannis Baratheon and his fleet were on their way to sack King's Landing to take the Iron Throne and the entire city was making the necessary preparations. The night was cold and foreboding as Celeste walked alongside Sansa and her handmaiden, Shae, in the throne room. The queen had asked them to join her and the other ladies of the court in Maegor's Holdfast, where they will remain until the battle between their forces and Stannis Baratheon's was over. Sansa, however, was called into the throne room by King Joffrey so she may see him off. Celeste decided to accompany her.

"Lady Sansa, Lady Celeste," Tryion Lannister approached them dressed in shiny armor. He eyed the handmaiden next to Sansa, "And Sheila?"

"Shae," she corrected coldly.

"Shae, yes," he nodded awkwardly before turning to Sansa and Celeste, "Surely my sister has invited you into Maegor's Holdfast along with the other high-born ladies?"

Sansa responded, "She has, my lord, but King Joffrey has sent for me to see him off."

"Sansa!" Joffrey high-pitched voice called out amongst the crackling of the fires in the throne room. Tyrion frowned softly, "He's always been a great romantic, my nephew."

"Sansa, come here!" the king called out again. Sansa turned to Tyrion as she went to go see Joffrey, "I will pray for your safe return, my lord. Just as I pray for the king's."

Seeing Sansa walk away, Celeste scoffed, "So she wants you dead?"

Tyrion graced her with a smile. "It's good to see you have your humor back, Lady Celeste."

She smiled, bowing her head slightly as she walked towards her husband, who was standing a short distance from where the king and his future queen were. "Sandor."

"Woman," he greeted gruffly. She smiled sadly, "How bad is it out there?"

"Nothing you should concern yourself with," he shrugged. "Don't worry; when I die, you'll be fucking free of me."

"Don't say that; I don't wish death upon you," she shook her head.

He leaned down slightly to whisper, "Trust that fucking instinct I know you have. Get the fuck out of this city if you see men coming into the Red Keep, no matter what the queen or any of the fucking ladies tell you."

"You think we will lose the city?" she whispered back. Sandor eyed the king, making Celeste turn her head to see Joffrey boasting about his battle prowess and his new sword he named _Hearteater_.

"With this cunt? King's Landing will be sacked in fifteen minutes," he told her. Celeste laughed softly, "Stannis Baratheon won't take the city because you're out there, Sandor. Please, stay safe and come back to me."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're sounding like a fucking wife, woman."

"Well, I _am_ your wife," she tiptoed and kissed his unburned cheek. "I must play the part."

He grunted and straightened his back before sauntering off to follow King Joffrey out of the throne room. When she left the throne room with Sansa, Celeste decided to follow Sandor's orders and keep her eyes and ears open. He rarely suggests things, and the fact that he told her to flee the city if she saw Stannis' men coming into the city was a red flag for her. It almost flattered her that he'd take the time to warn her and advise her.

Maegor's Holdfast had a tense air, the women quiet and visibly terrified. Sansa sat with the queen, who invited her to drink wine and appeared to be in a chatty mood. She heard the occasional battle drum in the distance and the bells of King's Landing. Celeste spent her time thinking of all the ways she could escape, which corridors she'd take, if she would have time to get to her bedchamber and pack some supplies or if she should leave the city on foot or go through the stables and take a horse. But what if there were no horses? And what if she was caught by guards and executed as a deserter and a traitor?

Lancel Lannister, the queen's cousin, walked inside the room for the second time that night and the two began to whisper amongst themselves. From what Celeste gathered, Lancel was insisting on taking King Joffrey back to the battle to boost the army's morale. This infuriated the queen and she pushed Lancel onto his back, making him cry out in pain from the injury he'd received earlier. The queen then took Prince Tommen's hand and hurried out of the holdfast.

The women in the room began to panic at the queen's sudden departure but Sansa quickly calmed them, urging them to sing a hymn. Celeste, her heart pounding against her chest, watched as Shae spoke to Sansa quickly and pushed her out of the room, presumably telling her to go to her chambers. After a few seconds of contemplation, Celeste gathered her skirts in her hands and left the holdfast. If the queen left, that meant the battle has been lost and it was only a matter of time before Stannis and his men breached the Red Keep.

Celeste ran into her chambers, locking the door before rummaging through her and her husband's belongings. She grabbed the biggest leather satchel she could find and began to fill it with essentials: all her jewelry and trinkets and all the gold coins she had. There were three canteens Sandor left lying around and she filled two with water and the third with wine. There was a bowl of fruit on the table and she placed them into the bag along with a sewing kit of needles, thread, and scissors, a folded sheet, and two extra dresses. There were no weapons in the room except for a dinner knife on the table, so she clenched that in her hand as she began making her way through the corridors.

She didn't get very far before she heard the clanking of armor. Her heart racing and her hands trembling, she gripped the knife and prepared herself mentally for the thought of stabbing someone that might try to kill her.

"Put that fucking butter knife down, woman,"

She'd never been so relieved to hear his voice. Sandor Clegane was standing in the middle of the empty corridor in bloody armor, a dagger at his side, and a great sword strapped to his back. He raised his eyebrows, "You listened to me."

"So the city really is lost?" she let out, finding her own words hard to believe.

"I don't know, and I don't fucking care, but I'm leaving this shit city," he grumbled. Celeste's eyes widened, "You deserted the battle?"

Sandor grabbed her arm and began dragging her down the corridor, "The fucking city will burn to the ground if you keep talking, woman."

Celeste struggled against him, "Wait—"

"What the fuck is it now?"

"It's Sansa! She's—"

"I told her I was leaving the city and that I could take her to Winterfell," he explained, taking her by the scruff of her neck this time and dragging her along. "She refused to come with me, saying she was safe here. Load of shite."

Celeste let the information sink in as they weaved through the corridors. There was silence between them as they hurried and Celeste didn't voice her thoughts, but she was oddly flattered he was on his way to their bedchamber hoping she'd followed his advice.

Sandor kicked open the Red Keep's stable doors. The horses inside neighed at the sudden sound but calmed almost immediately as Sandor stomped inside, Celeste following closely behind. Sandor approached an enormous and gorgeous midnight black horse that snorted when he petted his snout. She watched Sandor pull the stallion by the reigns, having the horse walk out of its stable. He then took her by the waist and lifted her onto the saddle as if she weighed nothing. Celeste couldn't help but squirm when he mounted the horse, his arms caging her as he led the horse, "Shouldn't I have my own horse?"

"Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"No," she said softly, realizing where this was going.

"Exactly. Now shut up and keep your head down," he snapped the reigns. "There's flaming fucking arrows everywhere."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**I'd like to thank all my readers and my reviewers for their kind words! You keep me going!**


	7. Chapter 7

She was so exhausted she didn't mind sleeping on cold grass. She didn't even bother with the sheet she'd brought in her satchel. Her legs were deathly sore from riding the horse for hours out of King's Landing and she could barely move her arms. When Sandor decided they were a safe distance from the capital, he had to help her off the horse because she couldn't move. She fell asleep the moment she laid down.

She woke the next morning alone on the grass. Sandor had started a small fire and it had put itself out at some point during the night. She was so tired and disoriented, she hadn't even realized she was warmed by the fire. The sound of grass crunching made her look up.

"Good morning," Celeste greeted Sandor as he walked over to their campsite whilst tying his trousers together. He grunted and took a seat on the grass. Celeste reached for her satchel, opening it, "Apple?"

He shook his head silently.

"You should eat," she insisted.

"Not hungry," he muttered. Celeste smiled, "Thirsty, then?"

He looked over to see her hold out a canteen. His eyes softened a bit, "Wine?"

"Correct," she tossed it to him. He uncorked it with his teeth and drank three gulps before sighing in pleasure, "Fuck me."

"You're very welcome," she smiled, biting into an apple.

They mounted Sandor's horse again and began trotting down the evergreen forest of the countryside. Celeste was incredibly sore and every time the horse made an abrupt movement, she'd hiss in pain. She was trying to keep her distance from Sandor out of modesty, but she eventually grew tired of it and leaned against his broad chest. He certainly didn't seem to mind.

"Do you have any idea where we can go?" Celeste asked as she watched him approach their small campfire. He tossed a dead rabbit in front of her feet. "No fucking idea, but you need to learn to skin and cook an animal."

Celeste looked horrified at the thought, watching him pull out his dagger and hand it to her, "I'm hunting the fucking food, so you do your job as a woman and fucking cook it."

Sandor was relieved his little wife wasn't a complainer. While she did whine about the soreness of riding a horse all day long, the pain went away after a few days. He taught her to skin animals and cook them and how to start a fire. Sandor was grateful she had her wits about her; they were near a body of water one day along the road and she fashioned a hook out of a sewing needle and used thread as a line. They caught four fish and they each ate two.

While she was no longer sore from riding, having to ride in a side-saddle position was becoming uncomfortable as was getting around with a dress. Celeste was saddened she had to do away with the dresses she'd brought along—she'd designed and sewn them herself—but they were anything but practical. She did well in bringing two extra dresses in the bag she hastily packed. With the two dresses plus the one she wore, she managed to make a total of two trousers and three long-sleeved tunics. With the leftover fabric, she made undergarments and left some strips for any injuries that might occur on their journey or when her red flower decided to bloom. To her shock, Sandor noticed his wife was in trousers that morning.

"Did you kill a stable boy while I was asleep?" he grumbled as he pushed himself up on his feet. Celeste ran her fingers through her hair. "I made them. Do you like how they look?"

"I don't give a shite," he shrugged. Celeste smiled, expecting him to answer like that, "Thank you. That means a lot."

Riding astride was much more comfortable. She was using Sandor as a backrest for the entirety of their rides, so much so that he pointed it out, "Am I a fucking feather pillow to you, woman?"

"Even with that armor, you are incredibly comfortable," she sighed. "I hope you don't mind?"

He mumbled something under his breath but said nothing.

* * *

Celeste was startled awake one night when something suddenly moved in the darkness. She stayed perfectly still, her eyes flashing about in the darkness. The embers of the dying campfire allowed her to see the outline of Sandor's enormous form just on the other side of it. Celeste figured it was most likely an animal, but when she saw Sandor shift in his sleep so suddenly, she realized he was what woke her. What shocked her, however, was his heavy breathing, and his head turning from side to side hastily. Celeste sat up to get a better look at him.

He was having a nightmare.

He growled in his sleep and slammed a fist against the dirt, his jaw clenched, and his shoulders tense. What could he be dreaming about? And what could he possibly be afraid of? He was the most fearless man she's ever seen.

He had another nightmare the following night. It pained her to see him suffer in his sleep as he did. She wanted to wake him, but she was terrified to do so. What if he hit her in his sleep? What if he killed her? It was quite possible—he could surely circle one hand around her neck and have his fingers meet.

On the third night, his nightmares were starting to tug at her heartstrings. He was whimpering like a puppy, for lack of a better phrase. His nightmares terrified him to the point of crying in his sleep. Celeste couldn't take it anymore. With all the courage she could muster, she crawled in the darkness towards him. He was laying on his side, his muscles tensing and releasing sporadically and his expression in a constant state of distress. Her heart beating furiously, she laid down next to him and squeezing her eyes shut, she reached for his hand, lightly resting it on his.

His breathing evened out, and his shoulders dropped. Celeste shivered when his hand slowly covered hers entirely. His touch was gentle, almost surprisingly so. It made her stomach flutter.

She woke the next morning alone. She sat on the grass patiently, detangling her hair with her fingers, hissing at every knot she found. As per every morning, Sandor emerged from somewhere in the bushes tying his trousers together. He said nothing as he reached for the canteen of water and drank. Celeste greeted him, "Good morning."

He grunted and avoided her eyes, "Go piss and shit if you have to; I'm saddling the horse."

Celeste knew he knew what she was doing. After that night, she would go to him when he began to show signs of having a nightmare. She'd hold his hand and lay near him. He'd sometimes throw his arm over her whilst asleep and she would find herself pressing her back against the length of his arm. She knew he'd wake up to see her laying at his side, and yet he said nothing about it. If he didn't want her near him, he would've told her to fuck off that very first morning, but he hadn't, and he _hasn't._ Celeste can only conclude he's avoiding the topic and hoping she doesn't bring it up to save them both the embarrassing conversation.

"Can't sleep?"

"What?"

Celeste sat up, eyeing him from across the small campfire, "You're usually asleep by now."

"Fuck off," he grumbled, shifting onto his side to face away from her. Celeste smiled softly, "I know when you're asleep and when you're not—and you're usually in a fouler mood when you don't get any sleep."

He didn't say anything.

"What do you dream about?" she asked. She expected him to tell her to fuck off, but he didn't. He responded after a moment of silence, "The Blackwater—it was on fire. Everything: the water, the ships, the sand. Men were burning alive. Everything was burning."

Celeste deduced he held some sort of fear towards fire; that nasty burn scar on his face surely was enough to give anyone nightmares, and seeing men burning alive was probably just as traumatic to experience. She was surprised he even slept near the campfire; he most likely did so out of necessity.

She was shocked she wasn't fearful anymore. Celeste stood and walked around the campfire, and when she sat down next to him, he jumped, "The fuck are you doing?"

"Don't act like an infant," she laid down and scooted close to him. He let out a frustrated growl, but his tense muscles soon relaxed, and it was only a matter of minutes before he began to snore. Celeste smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note - Thank you for all the follows and faves! I appreciate the support! Don't hesitate to review on your thoughts - criticism is always welcome. Enjoy! **

* * *

Celeste was an irritating woman, he'll give her that. He hated that she was becoming so comfortable around him despite his dismissive attitude and his insults. He didn't want her near him, yet she used him like a pillow while they rode his horse. He didn't want her sleeping at his side either, yet she did so anyway. She became so bold, she'd just saunter over while he was still awake and lay herself down at his side. He'll never admit he found her comforting though. Her warmth lulled him to sleep faster than the warmth of the campfire and he doesn't remember the last time a nightmare kept him awake at night.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" he asked into the darkness when he felt her shift against him for the fourth time. Celeste replied in a small whimper, "I'm flowering."

"Why do you sound like you're fucking dying?"

"Believe it or not, flowering is quite painful," she told him. "And very uncomfortable."

"You're bleeding out of your cunt; I'd assume it's fucking painful," he said just before she smacked his arm. It didn't hurt him, but it certainly surprised him enough to make him jump.

"Don't be so vulgar, Sandor," she scolded sharply. "I have little patience for such disgusting language right now."

"Sensitive, are we?" he scoffed.

"Very fucking sensitive," she replied in annoyance. "And in a very bad fucking mood."

Sandor was astonished those words left her mouth. His little wife was so dainty that hearing her curse like a drunken slob from Flea Bottom was nothing short of a fright. He said nothing else and fell asleep a while later.

The next morning as she sat detangling her hair with her fingers, Sandor cleared his throat, "Are you still…?"

"What?" she asked. He shot her a firm glance, and she correctly deduced his inquiry, "Flowering? Yes, I am."

"How fucking long do you bleed for, woman?" he asked. "I'm already an angry fucker; we don't need another."

Her laugh was so genuine, he almost didn't believe it. "My red flower blooms for about four or five days, but I'm only in a foul mood for the first two."

Sandor didn't understand her obsession with having to bathe all the bloody time. Every time they saw a body of water, she had him stop so she could wash her face and wet her hair. When they'd stop for the day and it happened to be near water, she'd warn him, "I'm going to bathe; please try to restrain yourself."

"You flatter yourself too much, woman," he rolled his eyes as he pulled the saddle off the horse. "I don't want to see you naked even if you were the last woman left to fuck."

"Thank the Gods for that," she let out. "You should bathe too; you smell dreadful."

"Doesn't seem to bother you as you sleep on my fucking shoulder every night," he shot back at her. She let out a laugh before disappearing down into the riverbed.

Curiosity got the better of him that day. Sure, he'd seen her naked in the past—he'd barged into their bedchambers while she bathed too many times to count. However, he'd never really seen her in full, or paid much attention to her since he was satisfying his needs in a whorehouse somewhere. But now with no such luxuries and with a desperate need for release, his inner dog led him to the riverbed and making sure he was properly hidden behind some underbrush, he watched.

If she were the last woman left in the world to fuck, he wouldn't mind at all. The water went up to her knees, so he could see her entire figure. She seemed like such a delicate little thing—he could leave marks on her with the slightest touch. She wasn't voluptuous: her shoulders were small, her breasts weren't large, and neither were her hips. Her strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back in beautiful wet curls as her delicate fingers ran through it, attempting to untangle the mess it always becomes. The locks she wasn't detangling were plastered on her neck and collarbone. Her flawless, alabaster skin glistened with water droplets and her shoulder blades were dotted with freckles.

Sandor bit his cheek when he felt his trousers becoming increasingly tight. His frustration got the better of him when he succumbed to his desires and wandered off deeper into the underbrush to untie his trousers. That was by far the best wank he's ever given himself, and he doesn't know why he felt so disgusted with himself afterwards. _Pathetic_ was a better word to describe how he felt after he came all over a bush picturing his naked wife.

When he returned to their campsite, she was already there fully dressed.

"Can you help me, Sandor?"

"With what, woman?" he asked in frustration. Celeste held scissors in one hand and in the other she held up half of her hair. "Hold my hair, please."

"Do I look like one of your fucking handmaidens?"

"My hair is becoming a nuisance, so I'm cutting it short," she said.

And so there he was, holding a woman's hair up as she cut long chunks of it off. He had to turn his head away when images of her wet hair against her naked skin began appearing in his head. It took her about fifteen minutes to cut her damp hair into an even bob that fell just above her shoulders. As she carefully trimmed the hair that framed her face, she spoke, "Thank you, Sandor."

He hummed in response and grabbed his dagger, "Start the fire; I'm going hunting."

The following day, they came across a small inn. Using the gold coins she'd packed, they purchased a hearty meal and, to her chagrin, Sandor snatched her leather bag from her and traded a jeweled necklace for six pitchers of wine. And by the Gods, they weren't leaving until he drank them all.

"Sandor, please, you shouldn't drink so much," Celeste warned him gently. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as her husband kept guzzling down his wine. "I haven't had wine in ages."

Celeste looked around the inn as her husband made a drunken fool of himself. Those seated nearest to them were gossiping about the upcoming wedding of Edmure Tully to one of the Frey girls at the Twins. As they went on about how King of the North Robb Stark and his army would be attending the wedding, Celeste noticed some men seated towards the end of the inn were staring at them from time to time. Sandor was an enormous man carrying an equally enormous sword on his back—she understood why they stared and thought nothing of it.

Sandor burped loudly, and Celeste knew he was terribly drunk. He could barely keep his head up and his words were slurred and unintelligible. He was so drunk, he didn't notice Celeste quietly telling the innkeeper to take two of the last three pitchers on the table. When the fourth one was finished—the sixth in Sandor's head—he slammed his giant hands on the wooden table and stumbled to his feet. "Let's get the fuck out of here, woman."

Celeste was incredibly embarrassed, especially when Sandor hit his head over the doorframe of the inn as he walked out. He told it to fuck off as if it was a man that bumped into him and then stumbled outside. It was a miracle he didn't fall the ground as he approached the stables. Celeste quickly mounted their horse and watched as Sandor tried to untie the reins from wooden fence, blinking harshly and muttering the longest string of curse words in Westeros as if that would help. When he did finally manage to untie the reins after ten minutes, he tried to get onto the horse but gave up after he slipped and almost fell. He led the horse down the trail, waddling from side to side and making the poor horse follow his lead in zigzags.

To Celeste's frustration, Sandor stepped into a small ditch on the trail and fell to the ground like a chopped tree. By the time she slid off the horse and approached him, he was snoring. She groaned, "I hope every bone in your body hurts when you wake up, you oaf."

Celeste couldn't possibly move him, so she held on to the reins of the horse and took a seat on his back. She wasn't about to sit on the ground: the trail was muddy, and he surely didn't seem to mind as he snored loudly.

The pounding of hooves made Celeste turn her head towards the direction they'd come from. Her stomach dropped when she recognized the men approaching: they were the men staring at them in the inn. And this time, they carried swords and bows with arrows.

Celeste stood out of reflex and knowing she wasn't strong enough to wield Sandor's sword, she unsheathed the dagger from his belt and held it towards the men as they surrounded them on their horses.

"Easy," the man with the bow and arrows told her gently. "We won't hurt you."

"Why should I believe you?" she asked firmly, though her trembling hands gave her fear away. The man smiled, "We're not here for you—we're here for _him_."

He pointed at Sandor's snoring form. Celeste gripped the dagger tighter, "Why?"

"He's the Hound," he shrugged his shoulders. "He's wanted for war crimes."

"Isn't every man guilty of war crimes at one point or another?" Celeste scoffed. Her sudden bravery vanished quickly when the archer dismounted his horse and approached her. He repeated himself, "We're not going to hurt you. We just want him."

Celeste found no words to say, but she didn't step aside. The man cocked his head in curiosity, "Why are you so protective of this murderer?"

"He's my husband," she told him. "Where he goes, I go."

"A loyal wife—any man would be lucky to have you," he said. "Fine. You can come along and follow your murdering, mutt of a husband."

Celeste could do nothing as they tied his wrists behind his back and then dragged Sandor to his feet, splashed a canteen of water on his face to wake him and perhaps disorient him before throwing a black hood over his head. Celeste mounted the horse again and followed these strange men as they led a bound Sandor down the trail. They weren't traveling for long before Sandor realized his predicament and began thrashing against his captors. Three men had to get off their horses and restrain him and even then, he was difficult to control.

"Sandor, calm down!" Celeste begged him. He immediately stopped and turned his head towards the sound of her voice, "Woman? What the fuck is this?"

"You've been captured, and I'm riding along," she explained. "Please stop struggling."

"Listen to your missus, dog," the archer called out. "We're almost there."

They arrived at another inn down the road that was much bigger and much livelier. They all left their horses at the stables and entered the inn, the archer cheering along with the other men as they dragged a no doubt hungover Sandor along.

"That is an uncommonly large person!" a man with long blonde hair and matching beard approached them, swaying his goblet of wine but not spilling a single drop. "How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?"

"One waits for him to drink until he passes out," the archer replied proudly.

"Poor man! You have my sympathy," the blonde man pulled the hood off Sandor's face and his expression lit up with amusement. "Ah, not a man at all! A Hound!"

The men drinking in the inn began to howl obnoxiously as the blonde man turned to meet Sandor's glance, "So good to see you again, Clegane."

"Thoros?" Sandor slurred. "The fuck you doing here?"

"Drinking and talking too much, same as ever," Thoros held up his goblet and caught eyes with Celeste. He grinned wolfishly, "And who is this lovely lady?"

"The Hound's got himself a loyal bitch," the archer joked. Thoros' eyes widened and smacked Sandor's arm playfully, "She certainly wasn't cheap, especially to fuck the likes of you."

"I'm his wife!" Celeste's cheeks burned in embarrassment. Thoros laughed loudly, "And I thought I'd heard it all!"

"Girl!" Sandor suddenly called out to the children walking past them towards the exit. Celeste watched as the girl stopped in her tracks and turned around, eyes wide with terror. Celeste frowned in confusion, feeling as though she recognized her…but from where?

"What in Seven Hells are you doing with a Stark bitch?"

Celeste's jaw dropped. It's Arya Stark!


	9. Chapter 9

"You think you're good with that bow, you little twat?"

"Better than anyone you've ever met,"

Celeste munched on a chunk of bread as she watched Sandor being led towards a wagon by his captors, who identify themselves as the Brotherhood Without Banners—whatever that meant. Her husband took an immediate dislike for the archer, calling him a coward any chance he got. The archer was incredibly arrogant and spoke to Sandor with witty quips and insults that Celeste knew he was only brave enough to say because Sandor's arms and wrists were bound tightly behind his back with rope. Otherwise, that man's head would've been rolling on the grass hours ago.

"I like to fight up close," Sandor growled. "I like to see a man's face up close when I put the steel in him."

"Why? So you can kiss him?" the archer shot back with a smirk. As they were nearing the wagon, Celeste saw Arya Stark whoosh past her and stand in Sandor's way defiantly.

"You remember the last time you were here?" the girl asked. Sandor looked around and shrugged, "Looks like every other shit inn on the road."

Arya was pushed aside by the archer so he could throw a black hood over Sandor's head, "Apologies, but you're one ugly fucker and I'd rather not see you no more."

Celeste cringed when the men purposely let Sandor bump his head on the frame of the wagon. That's the second time he's gotten hit over the head today. The archer laughed, "Watch your head, dog!"

Arya watched the wagon trudge off into the forest, deep in thought. Celeste approached her, "Arya Stark."

The girl turned to look at her and Celeste smiled. She's certainly more Stark than Tully as opposed to her sister who is more Tully than Stark. "My name is Celeste. I'm glad to see you're alive and well."

"Are you really his wife?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, unfortunately. Not my choice for a husband, though," she laughed. "Your sister misses you dearly."

"You know Sansa?" her expression softened considerably. Celeste nodded, "We had tea and talked often in the gardens of the Red Keep. She always told me she never knew how much she loved you until she realized she'd probably never see you again."

"She didn't say that," Arya shook her head. "She hates me."

"Gods, no," Celeste shook her head. "She only said good things about you except when she recalled your pranks on her."

That made the Stark girl smile proudly.

Celeste followed the Brotherhood through the thick forest and when they were nearly there, Thoros insisted she, Arya, and her traveling companion named Gendry wear a black hood over their heads so they could keep the location of their hideout a secret. When they were finally allowed to remove their hoods, they were inside a dark cave illuminated by a large fire and countless torches. More Brotherhood members were inside, and all were armed with swords, daggers, shields, and bows.

When they took the hood off Sandor's head, he looked around, immediately finding Celeste's eyes, before turning the rest of the Brotherhood, "You all look like a bunch of swineherds."

"Some of us were swineherds," the archer began. "And tanners, and masons. That was before."

"You're all still swineherds and tanners and masons. You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?" Sandor taunted. Celeste was worried he was hastening his impending death by doing so. Suddenly, a new voice spoke from beyond the cave.

"No, fighting in a war makes you a soldier," a man walked into the light, the shadows bouncing about to reveal his blonde hair was cut short and an eyepatch covered his right eye.

"Beric Dondarrion?" Sandor's eyes widened. "You've seen better days."

Celeste slapped her forehead. Sandor was asking to be killed by the Brotherhood at this point, especially when he began to berate them, "Stark deserters, Baratheon deserters! You aren't fighting in a war, you're running from it!"

"Last I heard you were King Joffrey's guard dog, but here you are 1,000 miles from home," Beric smirked, "Which of us is running?"

Does everyone here have a death wish?

"Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother in King Robert's name," Beric explained.

"Ned Stark is dead, King Robert is dead—my brother's still alive," Sandor spit on the ground in contempt. "You're fighting for ghosts."

"That's what we are: ghosts," he nodded. "Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you; no matter what cloak you wear. You prey on the weak, and the Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down."

"You found God, is that it?" Sandor guessed dryly. It was meant to be a joke, surely, but he was unwittingly correct. Beric nodded, "Aye! I've been reborn in the light of the one true god, as have we all, as would any man who has seen the things we've seen."

"If you mean to murder me then bloody well get on with it!" Sandor groaned impatiently. Thoros chimed in, "You'll die soon enough, dog, but it won't be murder—only justice."

"It's a kinder fate than you deserve," the archer spoke. "Lions you call yourselves; at the Mummer's Ford, girls of seven years raped and babes still on the breast were cut in two as their mothers watched!"

"I wasn't at the Mummer's Ford! Dump your dead children at some other door!" Sandor barked. Thoros scoffed, "House Clegane was built upon dead children!"

"Do you take me for my brother?" Sandor cried in disgust. "Is being born Clegane a crime?"

"Murder is a crime!" the archer yelled.

"I never touched the Targaryen babes! I never saw them! Never smelled them, never touched them, never heard them bawling!" Sandor growled. "You want to cut my throat? Get on with it! But don't call me murderer and pretend that you're not!"

"You murdered Mycah!" Arya suddenly announced. "The butcher's boy! He was twelve years old and unarmed and you rode him down and slung him over your horse like he was some deer!"

Celeste was shocked Arya spoke out like she did, and what shocked her even more was Sandor's dismissiveness to her accusation, "Aye, he was a _bleeder_."

"You don't deny killing this boy?" Beric asked. Sandor shrugged, "I was Joffrey's sworn shield, and the boy attacked the prince."

"That's a lie! I hit Joffrey!" Arya cried. Sandor scoffed, "Then I should've killed _you_! It's not my place to question princes."

"You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you," Beric announced. "Only the Lord of Light can do that; I sentence you to Trial by Combat."

Celeste sighed softly. She knew someone was going to die today, and she had a feeling it wasn't going to be Sandor. With the amount of rage simmering just below the surface, he had enough anger in him to fight every man in this room and emerge victorious.

"So who will it be? Should we find out if your God really loves you, priest? Or you, archer?" Sandor taunted before turning to Arya, "Or is the little girl the bravest one here?"

"Aye, she might be," Beric chuckled. "But it's me you'll fight."

They cut Sandor's ropes and gave him a sword as Thoros prayed to the Lord Of Light, asking for guidance and justice in this Trial by Combat. The priest gave Beric a sword which he used to cut the palm of his hand to draw blood. While Celeste found that rather unnecessary, she was astonished to see the sword's blade roar into a flame. After giving each other them a shield, the fight began.

Celeste has seen Sandor fight before, and he was no less of a brute now as he swung his sword heavily on Beric. With the swings of the fire sword, Celeste could see Sandor's terrified expression and she noted he was fighting with fear rather than with the casual dismissiveness or even the anger she usually sees in his eyes. He really was afraid of fire, and Celeste covered her mouth with her hand in horror when he was pushed into the hearth and his shield caught fire.

"Kill him!" Arya cried out. Sandor frantically tried to get the flaming shield off his arm while deflecting Beric's swings and in a moment of desperation, he elbowed the Brotherhood leader in the chest. When Beric fell on his knee from the blow, he held his sword up to block Sandor's swing, but it was no use. Sandor's sword sliced his cleanly and connected with his shoulder, nearly hacking it off. Beric immediately fell limp to the ground.

Thoros threw himself on Beric, muttering rapid prayers. Sandor rolled on the floor, smacking his arm to put out the fire. To Celeste's shock, Arya drew a dagger from a nearby man's belt and went for Sandor. Thankfully, Gendry held her back as the girl thrashed and cried, "No! Let go of me!"

"Looks like their God likes me more than your butcher's boy," Sandor chuckled sardonically.

"Burn in hell!" Arya cried.

"He will, but not today," Beric suddenly said. The man stood from the ground, alive and well and uninjured. The hairs on the back of Celeste neck rose in fright. What kind of dark magic are these Brotherhood men doing out here in the woods? Could this Lord of Light really be as powerful as they claim?

Celeste was glad the Brotherhood kept their word. Following Sandor's victory in the Trial by Combat, they gave him his sword back but emptied his pockets of the gold he'd taken from Celeste's satchel earlier in the day. They gave him a note saying he was owed gold by the Brotherhood, but Sandor was less than pleased.

"I want my gold!"

"It says it clearly right there that you'll be repaid in full when the war is over," Thoros pointed out. Sandor growled and tossed the note aside, "Piss on that! You're nothing but thieves!"

"We're outlaws. Outlaws steal," the archer taunted. "You're lucky we didn't kill you!"

Celeste frowned. Does this man not learn? Sandor obviously took the bait, "Come try it, archer. I'll shove those arrows up your arse!"

Celeste felt the need to finally intervene and she approached Sandor where he stood with Beric and Thoros, "Can we just be on our way?"

"You are free to stay, Lady Celeste," Thoros offered. "The Stark girl was telling me he was not your choice for a husband. You have the chance to leave him."

Celeste looked up at Sandor, who frowned at her as if trying to predict what her answer would be. She shook her head, "I appreciate the offer, but I will remain with my husband."

"And I thought I was the loyal dog," Sandor sneered. "What the fuck do I have to do to get rid of you, woman?"

"If you rid yourself of me, who will order you to bathe?" she joked.

"Not many can handle the likes of a Clegane and live to tell the tale, Lady Celeste," Beric chuckled before turning to Sandor. "Go in peace. The Lord isn't done with you yet, Sandor Clegane."

"And my fucking gold?" Sandor growled. "And my horse?"

"Your horse will be waiting for you outside when you are escorted a safe distance from here," he explained. "And as I said, the Brotherhood will repay you in full when the war is over."

"Actually," Celeste chimed in. "How about you spare another horse for me, and I shall convince my husband to forget about the gold you owe him?"

Beric chuckled softly and nodded, "Consider it done, my lady."

Hoods were thrown over their heads and after being escorted out of the hideout, they were left just outside the forest with two horses: Sandor's black stallion and a walnut brown stallion with a patch of white on his snout.

"Look at you, bartering like you're from Flea Bottom," Sandor began. "And that's without opening your legs; I can't imagine the bags of gold you'll get when you do."

"Must you be so vulgar?" Celeste sighed in exasperation before she reached into her leather satchel. "And I don't need to spread my legs for gold, either."

When Sandor looked over, he saw his wife holding up three bags full of gold. His eyes widened, "What the fuck? Where did you—"

"For a band of thieves, they surely leave their gold laying around rather irresponsibly," she laughed. Sandor scoffed in amusement and mounted his horse. When Celeste mounted her own horse, she added, "Oh, and I also took this."

Sandor looked over his shoulder and his jaw dropped when he saw her holding up a canteen. Celeste tossed it to him and he caught it, uncorked it with his teeth, and threw his head back to gulp down the sweet—

"Fuck!" Sandor spit out a large white mist. "It's fucking water!"

"That's what you're going to be drinking from now on," Celeste smiled triumphantly. "We wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for your ridiculous need for wine."

"I got us out of this mess, didn't I?" he growled. "And you got yourself a pretty pony because of it."


	10. Chapter 10

Celeste was shocked when Sandor handed her his dagger after they'd stopped to water the horses. When she eyed him suspiciously, he rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand to force her to unsheathe the blade.

"I'm going to teach you how to kill a man," he told her. "I'm not always around to fucking protect you, especially from those Brotherhood bastards."

"Indeed, you were drunk and snoring when they approached me," she quipped. Sandor snarled in annoyance before continuing, "Men are just killed. Women are raped, and _then_ killed. Use that to your advantage."

Celeste blinked, "So I'm supposed to do what exactly?"

"Let him get close," he told her. "Act like the fucking dainty little lady you are and cower in fear. When he gets close, you put the knife in him."

"Assuming there's only one man attacking me," she pointed out. "As I recall, I was just as defenseless as Sansa during the riots you saved us from."

"Pick and choose your fucking battles, woman," he shrugged and took her hand holding the knife. He leaned down to place the edge at his throat, "Aim for the neck; bloody as fuck, but there's no surviving it."

He then placed the blade at his chest, "Men wear armor, but if they don't, aim for the heart."

Celeste blushed and looked away in embarrassment when he took her hand and pressed the tip of the blade in his…nether region.

"Know what this is?" he asked, simply to tease her. Celeste cleared her throat in discomfort, still avoiding his glance. Sandor continued, "Unless you want to see a cock that will fuck you bloody, I suggest you aim for it and twist the blade while you're at it. It probably won't fucking kill him, but it will get him off you."

"Anything else?" she asked with a scoff. Sandor shrugged, "Men shit themselves when they die."

"Lovely," Celeste snapped. When she secured the knife on her waist, she watched Sandor unsaddling the horses, "What are you doing?"

"Setting camp; what the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"Already? The sun's still high in the sky," she looked up at the fluffy clouds floating around the bright sun. Sandor glared at her, "Shut up, woman. There's a river right there; go take those fucking baths you can't seem to live without."

When they turned in for the night, Celeste was wide awake. Seeing the crackling fire dancing in the darkness, she was reminded of Sandor's fight with Beric Dondarrion. How he looked utterly terrified the moment Beric's sword burst into flames and when he stepped into the hearth and his shield caught fire.

"What is it?"

Celeste looked over her shoulder at Sandor, who was on his back. His eyes were closed as he added, "You're not asleep."

"Neither are you,"

"That's not what I fucking asked you,"

Celeste considered her reply carefully, "I was thinking."

"What? About cocks?"

"Where'd you get that disgusting idea?" she rolled her eyes. She felt him roll his shoulders against her back, "You're a virgin; virgins are curious about cocks, aren't they?"

"Not in the slightest," she sighed and thought best not to ask him anything too personal. Celeste simply closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

"I'll give you one try, girl,"

Celeste heard Sandor's voice in her sleep, and thought it strange: he calls her _woman_, not _girl_.

"Kill me, and you're free, but if I live, I'll break both your hands,"

Celeste's eyes fluttered open and gasped upon seeing Arya Stark standing over her and Sandor holding a massive rock over her head. Celeste pushed herself up on her elbows as Sandor continued to taunt the Stark girl, "Go on: hit me. Hit me hard."

Arya's eyes shifted between Sandor's and Celeste's. Deciding a measly rock was not going to kill the Hound, she dropped it onto the grass and retreated to the sheet laid out on the other side of the fire, sat down, and crossed her arms over her chest like a punished child. Celeste was at a loss, "Sandor, where did—"

"I brought her here," Sandor replied, sitting up with a grunt. Arya chimed in angrily, "No! He dragged me here! He kidnapped me!"

"Sandor!" Celeste scolded as she watched him stand, rolling his shoulders and neck to release it of kinks. Sandor replied, "She was running from those fire god fucks, and a Stark girl will fetch a rich price."

"Were the bags of gold I took not enough?" she huffed.

"It's never enough," he shook his head before pointing at Arya, "Watch her. Don't let her run, you hear me, woman?"

"And where are you going?" Arya blurted out.

"To have a shit," he disappeared into the bushes.

Celeste met Arya's eyes. She tried to ease the girl, "He won't hurt you, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I'm not afraid of him," she seethed. "It's just…nothing."

Celeste thought the worst, "Did the Brotherhood men hurt you?"

"No," she shook her head. "They sold Gendry to the red woman."

"The red woman?"

"Melisandre," Arya clarified. "She's a red priestess for the Lord of Light. They sold him like he was some animal."

"They're thieves and outlaws," Celeste told her. "They probably would've sold you for the right price too."

"Like you're doing now?" Arya spat. Celeste frowned, "I won't allow Sandor to hand you over to anyone that might hurt you."

Arya brooded as she hugged her knees against her chest. Celeste began to clean up the campsite, folding up their bedding and preparing the horses' saddles for the day. She handed Arya a piece of bread, "You should eat."

The girl begrudgingly took the bread just as Sandor returned. When they saddled the horses, Sandor grabbed Arya to place her on his horse, but she jerked out of his grasp.

"You smell awful!" she cried. "I want to ride with Celeste!"

"So you can escape? You think I'm fucking stupid?" he scoffed, grabbing her arm again. When she thrashed against his grip, Celeste intervened, "Sandor, let her ride with me. She won't run, I promise."

Sandor let out a low growl, glancing between Celeste and Arya before shoving the girl towards his wife. "Don't try anything, girl. Children who run don't get far and don't have all their fingers."

They rode through the vast countryside in silence. Celeste knew Arya was annoyed as she brooded silently: whether it was because Sandor captured her or because of the Brotherhood's exchange with the red woman, she did not know. When she finally did speak to her, Celeste realized what she was worried about, "How long until we get to King's Landing?"

"King's Landing?" Celeste asked. Hearing the shock in her voice, Arya turned her head to look at her with wide eyes, "Aren't you selling me to Joffrey and the queen?"

"Heavens no, we're running from them," she said. "Sandor deserted the battle during Stannis' siege. For all we know, he took the throne and there is no queen or Joffrey."

"You haven't heard any news?" she asked. "Do you think Sansa is still alive?"

"If Stannis did take the throne, he wouldn't have hurt Sansa," Celeste said, and she hoped it was true if he did indeed succeed in sacking the city. She changed the subject quickly, "The news around these parts is the wedding of your uncle Edmure Tully to one of Walder Frey's daughters. They say Robb Stark and his army will be there."

"Really?" her voice squeaked with excitement. "Is that where we're going?"

"Aye, now shut up and we might make it there in time for the wedding," Sandor chimed in, obviously annoyed by their conversation. Celeste was glad to see the bright smile across Arya's face.


	11. Chapter 11

"Let me brush your hair, Arya,"

"No! I hate when people touch my hair!"

Sandor eyed them in mild annoyance as he sat by the fire roasting the duck he'd caught by the river. Celeste sighed heavily, "It looks a mess, Arya. When was the last time you washed it?"

Arya grimaced, "I hate taking baths."

"Seems like you're the only one who bloody enjoys baths, woman," Sandor chimed in. Celeste glared at him momentarily before looking at Arya, "You're going to see your mother and your brother. You should try to look your best after going so long without seeing them."

"They wouldn't exactly be shocked to see me like this," she joked.

Sandor scoffed in amusement. Celeste insisted, however, and had her sit in front of her. "Let me at least trim your hair; it's very uneven—did you cut it yourself?"

Sandor watched the girl's eyes fall sadly as Celeste rummaged for the scissors in her bag. She replied softly, "Yoren cut it."

"Who's Yoren?"

"He was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch," she explained. "After my father was executed, he cut my hair, told me I was an orphan boy, and tried to take me north to Winterfell with recruits for the Night's Watch."

Silence fell between the three of them with only the soft crackling of the fire filling in. Celeste touched her hair softly, "I'm so sorry, Arya."

Celeste began to snip Arya's hair, evening out the jagged ends and untangling the knots she would find. When she finished, she reached for a rag and wet it with water from the canteen. Sandor watched his wife wipe off the grime on Arya's brow as she smiled, "Your mother and your brother will be very happy to see you, Arya; dirt or no dirt on your face."

"Then why are you cleaning my face?" Arya giggled, pushing her hand away playfully.

"Because I'm sure you've seen things that no one your age should see," Celeste dabbed at her chin with the rag. "And I wouldn't want your mother to worry about what her little girl has experienced while she's been missing."

Sandor hadn't noticed he was staring so intently until Celeste turned her head to meet his eyes. She teased, "Do you want me to clean your face too, my love?"

"Fuck off," he growled, growing more frustrated when he heard the two of them giggling at him. Just his fucking luck to get stuck with two stupid girls.

The next morning, they ate some fruit from a nearby tree and continued their journey to the Twins. They rode down the dirt trails of the countryside until Sandor stopped his horse abruptly. Celeste pulled the reins of her horse as well, cocking her head to the side to look past her enormous husband. Up ahead on the trail was a man trying to fix the wheel of his cart of salted pork. His donkey brayed nearby as it grazed the field.

Sandor dismounted and gestured with his hand for Celeste and Arya to do the same. He then handed the reigns of his horse to Celeste and pointed at Arya firmly, "Remember what happens to children who run."

Arya nodded swiftly as he continued, "You're my daughter, and she's your mother. I'll be doing the talking."

His armor clanked as he turned and began stomping towards the hog farmer. Arya looked at Celeste, "People would believe he's my father, but would they believe you're my mother?"

Celeste thought about it, "How old are you?"

"Twelve,"

"I would've been a mother at your sister's age, then," Celeste shrugged. They both watched as Sandor easily held the cart up to allow the pig farmer to slip on the wheel. Arya asked, "How old is he, anyway?"

"I've never asked," Celeste answered truthfully, "I suppose I'd get told to fuck off if I did."

Just as the words left her mouth, Sandor's enormous fist connected with the hog farmer's jaw, knocking him onto his back on the ground. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him unsheathe his sword and begin to walk towards him. Celeste opened her mouth to call out to him but was rendered silent when she saw Arya courageously stand in his way and push him back, "Don't kill him!"

"Dead rats don't squeak," Sandor replied simply. Celeste chimed in, "Sandor! He's an innocent man!"

"Shut up, woman; this doesn't concern you," Sandor growled before turning to Arya, "Or you. Get the fuck out of my way."

"You're so dangerous, aren't you? Saying scary things to little girls and killing little boys and old people? A real hard man you are," she taunted. Celeste was shocked this girl no shorter than her was standing up to Sandor so defiantly. Celeste should follow her example when Sandor becomes insufferable.

"More than anyone you know," Sandor drawled out, obviously irritated with her.

"You're wrong! I know a killer—a_ real_ killer,"

"That so?" Sandor let out in disbelief. Celeste couldn't tell if Arya was lying to stop him or if she was telling the truth, though Celeste didn't think Sandor would care whether it was true or not.

"You'd be like a kitten to him," she continued. "He'd kill you with his little finger."

Sandor stood still, almost as if contemplating her words. After a few seconds, he nodded towards the unconscious hog farmer, "That him?"

The donkey brayed as Arya frowned in confusion, "No."

"Good," Sandor nodded and took a step forward. Once again, Arya pushed him back, "Don't kill him! Please!"

"Sandor, please," Celeste tried. "It's not worth it."

"My wife is an idiot—there's no helping that," he spat. "But you, girl—your kindness will get you killed."

Celeste fumed at his insult just as the hog farmer began to sit up with a painful groan. To Sandor and Celeste's shock, Arya grabbed a nearby plank of wood and hit the man over the head, knocking him unconscious once more. She then tossed the plank aside and made her way back to the horses.

Sandor followed the girl with his eyes, turning to meet Celeste's in genuine surprise. Still insulted by his earlier comment, Celeste shrugged indifferently, "Don't look at me; I'm an idiot, remember?"

* * *

The sun was setting over the Twins in the distance. Smoke was spewing from the castle chimney and from the castle grounds, proving the rumors right: Robb Stark's army had indeed arrived for the wedding. Seeing Arya look longingly over the Green Fork at the castle pulled at Celeste's heartstrings. She couldn't imagine the desperation she must feel to finally see her mother and brother after so long. Sandor, on the other hand, was sitting on the back of the cart eating away at pig's feet without a care in the world. As long as he had food to eat and wine to drink, he didn't care about anyone or anything.

Arya returned from her look-out post and snapped at Sandor, "No one will believe you're a hog farmer if you eat them all."

"Best part of the animal," he insisted as he shook the meatless pig knuckle at her. Arya turned towards the Green Fork again.

"Arya, they're not going anywhere," Celeste rubbed her back gently to comfort her, "The wedding is tonight, and they surely won't leave tomorrow morning with all the wine they'll be drinking."

"She's afraid," Sandor said. Arya took immediate offense to his words, "I'm not afraid."

"Of course you are," he nodded. "You're almost there, and you're afraid you won't make it."

"Sandor, stop it," Celeste snapped. He continued anyway, "The closer you get, the worse the fear gets. There's no point trying to hide behind that face: I know fear when I see it—I've seen it a lot."

"I knew fear when I saw it in you—you're afraid of fire," Arya said suddenly.

Sandor stopped chewing and an awkward tension gripped the three of them. Celeste immediately looked at Sandor, expecting him to fly off in rage, but he didn't. He looked shocked at Arya's declaration. Arya continued to taunt him, "When Beric's sword went up in flames, you looked like a scared little girl."

Celeste saw something in his eyes. She knew Arya was hitting a nerve in him that was rendering him speechless and looking mortified. Celeste felt a tinge of sympathy for him: he looked like a little boy confronted with his worst nightmare.

Arya stepped closer, her lips ghosting a smirk, "And I know why."

Celeste's heart raced as Arya continued in a low voice, "Your brother pressed your face to the fire like you were a nice juicy mutton chop."

Celeste covered her mouth with her hand. The Mountain gave him that horrendous scar? What could possibly be the story behind that? Celeste doesn't remember ever hearing gossip about Gregor Clegane holding his little brother's face over a fire during an argument or a brawl. Then again, his scars don't look recent, so it must've occurred when they were children. Celeste could only imagine it was some sort of childish argument or horseplay that went too far. She's heard terrible stories of the Mountain, worse than those she's heard of Sandor. She's only ever seen Gregor once in the Red Keep, and he was bigger and taller than Sandor who is already enormous by his own account.

Obviously wounded by her taunts, Sandor hit her where he knew it'd hurt in retaliation. He leaned forward with a smirk, "Go on, then; maybe you'll make it over there on your own. They're just over the river—the closest you've been to family since Ilyn Payne snipped your daddy's neck."

"Someday, I'm going to put a knife through your eye and out the back of your skull," Arya said emotionlessly. Her very graphic threat rendered Sandor speechless once again and he watched her walk off to stare at the Twins.

"That was uncalled for," Celeste snapped at him.

"She started it," he shrugged as he bit into another pig knuckle. Celeste took in a deep breath before speaking, "I don't know what to say."

"About what?"

"Your brother," she said gently. He visibly grimaced at the mention of the Mountain, "There's nothing to fucking say, woman; and thank the Gods Gregor's Kingsguard—if Joffrey would've married you to my brother, he would've raped you bloody and strangled you on your wedding night."

Celeste reached out and touched his armored shoulder. He looked confused she did so but surprisingly didn't shrug her away as she said, "A part of me is glad you're my husband; you've taught me so much."

"Oh?"

"You've taught me how to live off the land, and that men shit themselves when they die," she smiled when she saw him scoff in amusement. He continued eating, "That's hardly a fucking lesson, woman."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," she scolded him. "And Arya's right. If you plan to leave tonight for the wedding, you shouldn't eat them all."

That night, Sandor prepared the cart and wore a cloak over his armor to hide it from the soldiers guarding the castle. They agreed Celeste would stay behind and watch their campsite while Sandor went to exchange Arya for gold. Celeste helped her up into the back of the cart pulled by Sandor's horse and smiled, "Until we see each other again, Arya; I wish you the very best."

Arya nodded, an excited grin on her face. Celeste watched the cart trudge down towards the towers in the distance. When they were out of sight, Celeste kept herself busy by sewing any tears in her clothing and brushing her horse. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without Sandor by her side. Hearing him snore and feeling his warmth was oddly soothing to her, and she felt she wouldn't get a wink knowing he wasn't here to protect her. The knife he gave her was never out of her reach and she tightened the belt that held it against her hip.

Celeste's ears perked up at the sound of hooves trotting in the darkness. She stood and gripped the hilt of her dagger as her eyes made out the form of Sandor on his black horse with Arya sitting in front of him. Celeste blinked, "What happened?"

Sandor dismounted and helped Arya off the horse. Celeste noted Arya's gaze was unfocused and blank; the girl was emotionless as she walked past her and sat herself by the fire, hugging her legs to her chest. Celeste turned to Sandor again, "What happened?"

Sandor bent down to her level and whispered his words so only she would hear, "The Freys slaughtered every Stark they could find. They beheaded Robb Stark and attached his direwolf's head on his body to parade him around the castle grounds—she saw that."

Celeste immediately went to Arya's side, and with tears streaming her cheeks, she brought Arya close to her chest and embraced her as her voice wavered, "Arya, you poor thing; I'm so sorry."

Celeste could tell by the way her body was tensing in her arms that the girl was devastated but was biting back her emotions. Celeste smoothed down her hair, "I'm so sorry…"

Arya cried for what seemed to be hours; all the emotion she'd been keeping bottled up for so long since she escaped King's Landing. Sobbed for her mother and for her brother, for her father whom she saw being dragged away bloody and headless, for the betrayal against her family, for the anger she felt for not being able to see them one last time, for the frustration of being so close and never arriving, for that longing she felt that she will never be able to appease. Arya wept into Celeste's chest, staining her blouse with tears. She eventually cried herself to sleep, slumping on Celeste's lap like a baby after her hiccups subsided. Celeste gently laid her down and wrapped her up in two blankets. With a sigh, she stood and made her way over to lay herself down next to Sandor, who was stretched out on his back. He wasn't snoring, so she knew he'd been awake the whole time.

"You'd make a good mother one day," he whispered in the darkness.

Celeste smiled softly, "I hope so."


	12. Chapter 12

Wanting to get as far away from the Twins as possible, Sandor, Celeste, and Arya woke just before dawn and began traveling. Celeste urged Arya to eat or drink something, but she quietly refused. It broke Celeste's heart to see her reddened and swollen eyes, but she seemed to be much more calm albeit emotionless as she sat in front of her on her horse following Sandor's through the forest. The sun was just making an appearance over the horizon, but the birds in the trees were quiet, almost as if they were mourning for those fallen at the Twins. In the distance were the voices of men and the crackling of a hearth. Their words were unintelligible until they began to get near their campsite. To Celeste's dismay, they were Frey bannermen.

"I'm telling you, that's what she did!" one of the men laughed as he mocked a moan with his hands around his throat. "Sounded like a cow in heat!"

Celeste felt Arya's body go tense as the men continued to laugh. Another man drank from a canteen, "Walder shut her up right quick! None of the Starks had much to say about the end of that meal!"

"Tell you what; the hardest thing was getting that wolf's head to stay—"

Celeste let out a soft gasp when Arya suddenly slipped off her horse and began to approach them. Panicked, Celeste whispered harshly, "Sandor!"

Her husband looked over his shoulder and his eyes immediately widened when he saw Arya was no longer riding with her and was making her way towards the Frey bannermen. Sandor turned his horse around to stop parallel to hers. "You said she wouldn't run from you, woman."

Celeste glared at him, "She's very fragile right now, Sandor. You need to be patient—"

Shouting from the campfire erupted and Sandor was off his horse with his sword drawn in a flash. Arya had stabbed one of the men bloody and left the rest of the fight to Sandor. Celeste jumped off her horse and helped Arya up from the ground as Sandor cut through the men as easily as a cook cutting through butter. Celeste nearly gagged at the sight of the man Arya had stabbed in the neck, the blood gushing from him like a fountain and making a dark red puddle in the dirt. It didn't surprise Celeste that Arya would lash out this way: rage and grief was at war within her.

"Where did you get the knife, girl?" Sandor asked. Arya held up the bloodied dagger, "From Celeste."

Celeste quickly looked down to see the empty scabbard on her waist. She then looked up to see Sandor's glare on her, to which she could only respond with an embarrassed smile. Sandor snatched the knife from her and gave it to Celeste. She cringed at the feeling of the man's blood on her palm as Sandor asked, "Is that the first man you've killed?"

"The first man," she confirmed, looking down at the man still gushing blood from his neck. Rather than scold her for her impulsive behavior, Sandor only advised her, "Next time you're going to do something like that, tell me first!"

Sandor sauntered off to sit by the hearth and help himself to the meat roasting over the fire. Celeste noticed Arya bend down and pick something off the ground. When she held it delicately between her fingers, Celeste didn't recognize it as a Westerosi coin, but it was a coin nonetheless with an engraving of a face and bumpy ridges. Arya whispered something to herself Celeste didn't quite hear.

* * *

"Where are we going now?" Arya asked one morning as they rode through the countryside.

"I'm not sure," Celeste shrugged and called out to her husband, "Where _are_ we going, Sandor?"

"Will you two shut up?" he growled.

"Perhaps we're going to the North," Celeste began, winking at Arya with a grin, "What do you think, Arya?"

"I can tell you all the noble houses of the North," Arya grinned mischievously. "There's House Dustin: their sigil is two crossed long axes beneath a black crown; there's House Glover and their sigil is a silver fist over a red background; there's House Umber—"

"For fuck's sake!" Sandor barked in frustration. "We're going to the fucking Vale where she's got her rich aunt Lysa there. Now both of you shut the fuck up!"

Celeste was happy to see Arya slowly recovering from her loss and start to smile and laugh again. She would to reminisce her mother fondly and would usually do so when Celeste did something that would trigger her childhood memories.

"My mother would fix all our clothes herself," Arya said suddenly. The sun was setting over the countryside as Sandor was laying on his back near the fire on a full stomach of fish and wild berries. Celeste looked up from her work and smiled, "Really? That's quite odd; noble families have their own tailors and seamstresses."

"My mother enjoyed sewing and embroidering—she said it was part of being a mother," Arya watched Celeste fix her sleeves torn from so many months of harsh travel. Celeste continued to mend the fabric as she smiled, "Ironically, my mother couldn't sew on a button; my father was the royal tailor in King's Landing and my mother was a cook in the kitchens. I took after my father—I'm not a very good cook, but I can make you a lovely dress."

"That explains the burnt fucking fish I had just now," Sandor chimed in unexpectedly. Celeste glared at him, "It's rude to eavesdrop, you know."

"It's eavesdropping if I'm hiding; I'm not bloody hiding,"

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" Celeste scoffed.

"It's the fucking truth, woman."

Celeste rolled her eyes and turned back to Arya to see her blink in curiosity, "Did your parents force you to marry him?"

"King Joffrey was the one who forced us to marry; he wanted to punish my father for making his robes too tight."

"It was his trousers," Sandor corrected her. Celeste blinked, "You have an awfully good memory."

"I remember because I wondered how the fuck he could've made his trousers too tight when he's got no cock," Sandor explained. "That cockless fucker."

Arya laughed in agreement and Celeste smiled softly. She'll never admit she was starting to find his vulgarities incredibly amusing.

* * *

One morning, Celeste was shaken awake by Arya.

"Celeste!" her whisper was harsh and wavering with slight panic. Celeste's eyes fluttered open and she began to take in her surroundings. The fire from last night was out, the twilight was beginning to light up the new day, and Sandor's snoring was discouraging the songbirds in the trees from challenging him. Still drowsy with sleep, she pushed herself up on her elbows, "Arya, what's wrong…?"

Arya only whimpered, and Celeste immediately saw what was wrong. Her trousers were stained bright red. Her voice wavered again, "I'm bleeding!"

"Oh, you've flowered," Celeste told her gently.

Arya was confused and frightened to see her trousers stained with her own blood when she wasn't wounded. Celeste stood from the bedding, and her movement roused Sandor from his sleep. He raised his head to glance at them in annoyance, "What the fuck are you two doing so fucking early?"

"Arya's flowered."

Sandor looked horrified at the announcement and let out a groan, dropping his head back down with a thump, "Now we'll be three angry fuckers."

Celeste took Arya to the riverbed and washed off the blood from her trousers which thankfully didn't leave a stain. Arya was as small and petite as her, so she fit into Celeste's spare trousers while hers dried out on the grass. Celeste gave her some strips of cloth she kept in her satchel for this monthly occasion and instructed her on how to use and wash them, and what flowering was. Arya was annoyed at the inconvenience of it.

"But I don't want to have children," Arya grumbled.

"It doesn't matter if you want to or not," Celeste explained. "It's something every woman must experience—I was your age when I first flowered as well."

"How stupid," she frowned. "Being a girl is stupid."

"Perhaps," Celeste smiled at her innocence. "But women are what make the world go 'round; if it wasn't for us, men would certainly go mad."

Arya smiled at the thought before asking, "How come you and the Hound don't have children?"

Celeste blushed at her question, "Well, do you know what consummating a marriage means?"

"Is it the same as fucking?"

Celeste was startled by her boldness, but nodded, "It's another way of saying it, I suppose; only consummating is done between husband and wife on their wedding night."

Arya nodded slowly in understanding, "So you didn't consummate your marriage?"

"No, we didn't."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to, and Sandor didn't force me," she smiled, thinking back on how relieved she'd been that night when he preferred the company of a goblet of wine over her. "Our marriage has gone unconsummated all this time, and in order to have children, a husband and wife must do so."

"Do you want to fuck him?" Arya suddenly asked. Celeste blushed in embarrassment and pinched Arya's cheek, "Don't be vulgar; it's unbecoming of a lady."

"I'm not a lady," she insisted. "Do you?"

Celeste shivered at the notion, and didn't want to give it too much thought, "Of course not."

"I wouldn't want to either," she grimaced. "He smells."

They both burst into laughter. Celeste felt the need to defend poor Sandor, "He may be a brute, but there aren't many men who don't force themselves on their wives when they don't want to have them in bed. Being a man's wife gives him the right to do what he wants with you, and Sandor didn't take advantage of that."

Arya considered her words before announcing, "That's why I'll never be a wife!"

Celeste only smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone for their continued support and all the positive feedback! Enjoy! **

* * *

One afternoon as they traveled through the Riverlands, they stumbled upon an inn on the road. There were horses outside and the chimney was spewing smoke, meaning it was open and running. As they led their horses into the stables, Arya suddenly gasped, looking towards the entrance of the inn. "I know him."

"Who?" Celeste asked, watching the two men that stood pissing into the bushes just outside the inn.

"The small one; his name's Polliver—he captured us and took us to Harrenhal," she explained and added after a pause, "He killed Lommy."

"What the fuck's a Lommy?" Sandor asked, tying the horses' reins in a tight knot. Arya frowned in annoyance, "He was my friend; Polliver stole my sword and put it right through his neck."

As she said this, Polliver and his companion turned to go back into the inn. On his belt was a thin bladed sword that made Arya's head perk up, "He's still got it! That's my sword, Needle."

"Of course you named your sword," Sandor drawled.

"Lots of people name their swords," she snapped. Sandor rolled his eyes, "Lots of cunts."

Arya took a step towards the inn but didn't get far. Sandor grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back to face him, "Listen, girl, we're not going in there to take back your fucking Needle or for you to stab him bloody like you did that other poor fuck."

"He killed my friend!"

"I don't care if he _ate_ your friend!" he snapped. "We're going in there, we're going to eat and drink wine—"

"No wine," Celeste cut him off. Sandor growled but continued with a finger in Arya's face for emphasis, "And once we pay, we're getting the fuck out of this shit inn, you hear me?"

"Yes," Arya pouted irritably. Sandor released her shoulder, "Good. Don't start anything, or the same rules apply to children who run."

They entered the inn. Sandor's enormous stature, clanking armor, and broad sword rendered the inn silent. Celeste counted four men wearing Lannister colors, the innkeeper holding a pitcher, and what Celeste assumed was his daughter sitting on the lap of one of the Lannister men looking frightened and teary eyed.

Nevertheless, the inn revived itself and the men turned back to their drinks and groping the poor girl. The innkeeper pleaded with Polliver to let his daughter go, but he only threatened him, "Shut up and pour us more ale, and we may not take her with us when we're done with her."

Sandor casually walked to the table farthest from the men and sat with his back to the wall to have a full view of the inn. Arya scooted herself onto the bench, sitting to his left, and Celeste took a seat to his right. Sandor was slipping his monstrous hands out of his gloves when Polliver called out, "I know you! You're the Hound!"

Celeste held her breath, hoping Arya wouldn't blurt something out in retaliation for her deceased friend or her stolen sword. Thankfully, Sandor's warning seemed to have worked for she was silent as Polliver strolled over and sat himself at their table like he'd known them for years, "Pour our new friend some ale!"

Polliver eyed Celeste and Arya momentarily before turning to Sandor, "What brings you so far north?"

"I could ask the same of you: what are you doing up here?" Sandor asked, obviously wanting nothing to do with the conversation. Polliver didn't notice Sandor's tone and seemed excited to be talking to the Hound as if he was a celebrity, "Keeping the King's peace!"

"No need; war's over," Sandor shrugged, taking the mug of ale the innkeeper just poured him. Polliver nodded, "So I've heard! Stannis defeated at the Blackwater, Robb Stark killed at the Twins, and where am I for all of it? Stuck with your brother—mean you no offense."

"None taken," Sandor stopped gulping down his ale to say.

"He's good, the Mountain is—the best at what he does, but torture, torture, torture," he shook his bald head in exasperation. "You spend enough time putting the hammer to people, you start feeling like a carpenter making chairs. It drains the fun right out of it, and what's life without a little fun?"

Celeste's stomach turned when Polliver chuckled lustfully and met her eyes and then Arya's, "But I don't have to tell you two that, eh?"

"She's alright," Sandor said as he looked at Arya. He then nodded towards Celeste, "She's better."

Celeste rolled her eyes as Polliver continued talking, trying to convince Sandor to ride along with his men back to King's Landing, enticing him with the promise of kind innkeepers and their unlimited ale and wine stocks, hidden gold and silver, and multiple daughters. Sandor sighed, taking a brief pause to reply, "I'm not going to King's Landing."

Celeste felt irritation starting to bring itself to a boil within him, and she prayed to the Gods Polliver would take the hint and, as her husband would poetically put it, _fuck off_. To her dismay, the man was a stupid as he looked, and continued to insist, "Think about it! We can do whatever we like! These are the King's colors, and no one is standing in his way, which means no one is standing in ours!"

Sandor leaned forward and let his irritation boil over, "Fuck the king."

The inn fell silent once again, and Celeste's stomach dropped. So much for warning Arya to keep her head down—her husband was a walking contradiction.

"When I heard that Joffrey's dog had tucked tail and run from the Battle of the Blackwater, I didn't believe it," Polliver said sternly. "But here you are."

"Here I am," Sandor placed his mug of ale down on the table and nodded towards the plates of roasted chicken on top of the King's men's tables. "Bring me one of those chickens."

Celeste let out a soft sigh. This wasn't going to end well, and she knew it. The air in the inn was thick, and only the slightest spark would light the fuse. She gulped when she saw one of Polliver's men eyeing her hungrily, and she instinctively scooted closer to Sandor.

"You got money to pay for it?"

"You paid for it?" Sandor inquired sardonically. Polliver chuckled, "No, but we're the King's men. You got money?"

"Not a penny," he lied. "I'll still take that chicken."

"Tell you what: how about one of our little chickens for one of yours," Polliver looked between Celeste and Arya. "Give us a go at your friends—Lowell here likes them broken in."

The man Polliver introduced as Lowell was the same man staring at Celeste earlier, and she tried her best to ignore the feeling of his lecherous gaze poking holes into her.

"You're a talker," Sandor began. "Listening to talkers make me thirsty."

He reached over and took Polliver's mug of ale and gulped it down in seconds. When he finished, he placed the mug down, "And hungry—think I'll take _two_ chickens."

"You don't seem to understand the situation," Polliver continued, puffing out his chest like a boy playing the soldier. Sandor spoke in a low growl, "I understand that if any more words come pouring out of your cunt mouth, I'm going to have to eat every fucking chicken in this room."

"You lived your life for the king; you're going to die for some chickens?"

"Someone is."

They sat there in silence, almost like a stand-off. Then, as if in sync, everyone drew their swords in and Sandor flipped their table over Polliver, knocking him to the ground. Sandor went straight for the thick of the battle, colliding swords with the King's men. The innkeeper and his daughter fled to the upstairs of the inn. Celeste took cover behind the turned table and craned her head up to peek over it long enough to see Sandor delivering a deathly punch on a man's face and to see Arya safe behind a pillar up ahead.

Celeste let out a cry in pain when something pulled her hair back and her back hit the hard floor with a thump. Lowell managed to sneak his way past Sandor's sword and decided raping a woman took precedence over the fight his comrades were losing against the Hound.

"Pretty little thing," he purred as he grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. "You're going to get fucked by a _real_ man."

Desperately gasping for air, Celeste clawed at his wrist. When she saw his free hand reach down to unbuckle his trousers, Celeste forced herself to relax, ceasing her struggling and letting her arms drop to her sides. His hand released her airway somewhat when he sensed her cooperation. He chuckled darkly, "Little thing wants to fuck a man and not a dog for once."

The next thing out of his mouth was a piercing cry. Celeste had drawn her dagger quickly and impaled it into his groin, twisting the blade with all the strength she had in her. She pulled it out and he rolled onto his side, clutching his cock and crying out. Celeste remained where she was, her bloodied hands trembling and clutching the knife as if it was her life force. When the fire running through her veins subsided somewhat, she noted the silence except for the sound of Arya's voice speaking softly from somewhere in the inn, though she couldn't make out the words. Her ears were still ringing, and her body was still shaking as she sat up. The man next to her was panting heavily in pain, gurgling in anger, "You bitch…"

"Woman!"

Sandor's deafening voice brought her back to reality. She stood on her wobbly legs, holding the upturned table for support and croaked, "I'm here."

Celeste was surprised Sandor was at her side in a second, but she was even more surprised when his hand reached out, gently taking her chin and tilting her head slightly to give him a full view of the raw handprint across her neck. He then looked down at the man writhing in pain at their feet.

"Go over there with the girl," he told her in almost a whisper. His gentle tone made her heart flutter and she obeyed, approaching Arya who now held her beloved sword, Needle, in her hands. Her eyes widened at seeing Celeste's bloodied hands, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm—" Celeste jumped when she heard Sandor grunt, followed by the sickening sound of steel on flesh. She turned her head to see Sandor holding his bloodied sword over his head and bring it down once again with a grunt. Blood splattered over the wall from the sheer force of his swing, and more blood splattered on the adjacent walls and the ceiling from the two more blows that followed.

When Sandor was finally satisfied and turned to walk towards them, the sound of footsteps revealed the trembling innkeeper and his daughter hiding behind him. The man looked utterly terrified but managed to find his words, "You can have all the chickens!"


	14. Chapter 14

Arya was incredibly pleased she was allowed to ride her own horse following the brawl at the inn a few days ago. She was even more cheerful about her reunion with her cherished Needle. She told Celeste it was a gift from her brother, Jon Snow, notoriously known as Ned Stark's bastard son. As they continued to travel to the Eyrie, food became scarce. There were no inns on the road and the plains that stretched their way to the Vale were vast and were not only unfit to grow trees bearing fruit but were also difficult to hunt in unless you were skilled with a bow or set elaborate traps. They didn't catch too many fish in the streams and the ones they did catch were incredibly tiny. At least they had fresh water every day and that kept them going.

"Where are we?" Arya asked as she picked the weeds off some sort of root vegetable she found. She handed a batch to Celeste as Sandor fastened his pants. He'd been taking a piss against a stone fence and took a second to think about where exactly they were, "Near Fairmarket, I think."

"You think?" Arya asked. "You don't have a map?"

"No, I don't have a map," he grunted as he stomped towards the horses. Celeste followed him down the small hill, and Arya did so as well, adding, "Maybe we should get one."

"Aye, just point out the next map shop you see, and I'll buy you one," he said sarcastically. Seeing as he wasn't in a cooperative mood—perhaps because he was starving—Arya turned to Celeste, "How far do you think it is to the Eyrie?"

"Quite far," Celeste ate the small root vegetable. It was bitter, but she'd eat anything at this point. Arya turned to Sandor again, "You're sure we're going the right way?"

"Believe me, girl, I want you there soon as I can," he filled a canteen with water from the stream. "Get my gold, be on my way."

"On your way where?" she asked. Celeste smiled softly at how exasperated Sandor looked from Arya's badgering. He snapped, "Why do you care?"

Arya shrugged. Celeste decided to speak, "She's right; where are we to go after we've left her with Lady Lysa?"

Sandor took a moment to consider before replying, "Might book passage across the Narrow Sea and fight as a sellsword; the Second Sons seems like a good fit for me."

"Essos would be nice to visit," Celeste looked up in thought. "I've heard Pentos is very beautiful."

"I'd like to see Braavos one day," Arya chimed in. Sandor raised a curious brow, "Why Braavos?"

"I have friends there," she said firmly. Sandor sniffled and blew his nose into the stream, the mucus flying out of his nostril like an arrowhead, "Doubt it."

As Celeste and Arya grimaced in disgust, a man's voice from above the stone wall greeted them, "Seven blessings to you."

"What do you want?" Sandor spat.

"What do I want? This is my land," he said. He sat on his horse-drawn wagon carrying hay alongside a little girl that was most likely his daughter.

"When I'm standing on it, it's my land," Sandor taunted. Arya stood quickly, "We were just watering the horses; we'll be on our way."

The man didn't look convinced, so Celeste decided to add her share, "My husband's poor attitude is his way of showing grief, sir. The war has been difficult, and he's been injured multiple times fighting in it."

"Our cottage burned down while he was gone," Arya added, gesturing at Celeste. "My mother and I managed to escape, but we couldn't save my brother."

"Which house did he fight for?" the man asked. This was a loaded question that Arya was witty enough to answer correctly, "The Tullys of Riverrun."

The smile on the man's face lit up the entire countryside, "There's a storm coming; you'll be wanting a roof tonight. There's fresh hay in the barn and Sally here makes rabbit stew just like her mum used to do," he met Sandor's eyes, "We don't have much but any man that bled for House Tully is welcome to it."

Their cottage was small but cozy and was warmed perfectly by the blazing hearth. They all sat around a large pot of rabbit stew filled to the brim and a basket of bread. The farmer folded his hands and prayed to the Seven Gods, reciting the common dinner prayer. As much as Celeste appreciated his kind gesture, she really didn't care much for the Seven or any bloody god at the moment unless they walked into this hut with more food for them. Still, the farmer continued on and on, "We ask the Warrior to give us courage in these days of strife and turmoil. We ask the Maiden to protect Sally's virtue and keep her from the clutches of depravity—"

"You going to do all seven of the fuckers?" Sandor grumbled. Celeste smacked his arm as Arya cried out, "Father!"

The farmer was startled but continued, all the while Sandor, Arya, and Celeste eyed the stew longingly, "We ask the Smith to strengthen our hands and our backs, so we may finish the work required of us. We ask the Crone to guide us on our journey from darkness to darkness—"

Once again, Sandor interrupted, "And we ask the Stranger not to kill us in our beds for no damned reason at all."

Sandor grabbed the pot, poured himself the stew directly into the bowl and slammed it against the middle of the table. Arya followed suit and apologized briefly before doing the same. Celeste was shocked she did the same and the three of them began slurping their stews as if it was going to be snatched away from them. The farmer and his daughter eyed them in genuine shock and it was only after Celeste's hunger was finally settled did she realize how rude they were being. Arya beat her to the punch and smiled, "This is _really _good…"

They began to have a proper meal afterwards and the farmer asked if Sandor fought at the Twins, to which he replied very honestly by saying it was more like a slaughter of livestock. The farmer claimed they were calling it the Red Wedding.

"Walder Frey committed sacrilege that day; he shared bread and salt with the Starks," the farmer shook his head in contempt. "He offered them guest right."

"Guest right don't mean much these days," Sandor shrugged. "Got any ale?"

The farmer shook his head, "Afraid not."

"How can a man not keep ale in his own home?" Sandor scoffed in disbelief.

The farmer offered Sandor to stay on his farm, considering a warrior like him who could swing a sword would no doubt keep the bandits plundering his home away.

"What'll you pay?" Sandor asked after a moment. Celeste and Arya looked at him in shock. He was actually considering it?

"I don't have much, but I have hidden a bit of silver from the bandits," he smiled. "Fair wages for fair work?"

Sandor nodded, "Fair wages for fair work."

Celeste's jaw nearly hit the table. Perhaps he was considering staying here for a while to recuperate before starting to travel to the Eyrie again. She doubted he was going to toss aside the vast amount of gold Lysa Arryn would pay for her niece to help a farmer turn his crops.

They slept in the barn on soft hay, and after going so long without eating, Celeste was already feeling drowsy on a full stomach. Add Sandor's warmth at her side, and she fell asleep in a second. The next morning, however, she was startled awake by the scream of a little girl. Arya, who laid next to her on the hay, jumped awake as well. They eyed each other before they ran outside the barn and to the front of the farmhouse. There they saw the farmer's daughter cradling her father, his brow bloody and bruised while Sandor towered over them both with a coin purse in his hand.

"What did you do?" Arya cried.

"Get your horses saddled, both of you," he told them, counting the silver in the purse. Celeste was at a loss for words—she didn't think Sandor was capable of this. Sure, he was a brute and found pleasure in killing, but this was heartless.

"He took us in! He fed us!" Arya kept on. Sandor turned to them, "Aye, he took us in. He's a good man, and his daughter makes a nice stew, and they'll both be dead come winter."

"You don't know that, Sandor!" Celeste finally found her voice, her rage burning just below her skin. "You can't just rob him after he's been so generous! I thought you were more noble than this!"

"I'm not a fucking knight from those shit songs all the maidens sing," he growled, staring down at her. "He's weak and he can't protect himself! They'll both be dead come winter, and dead men don't need silver."

"You're the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms!" Arya cried out.

"I just understand how things are," he sneered. "How many Starks they got to behead before you figure it out?"

"Stop it, Sandor!" Celeste called out. "All you do is insult her family when she stands up to your disgusting actions!"

"Aye, because that's the only way she'll fucking learn," Sandor scoffed. "Perhaps I should rape you bloody, so _you_ learn a thing or two about the world!"

His words dug into her skin like razor sharp knives and her eyes burned with tears. She's always been just a bit afraid of him, but as he stood over her, threatening to do the vilest thing a man can do to a woman, she was terrified. Flashbacks of Lowell choking her and unbuckling his trousers ran through her mind and it made her body freeze and her stomach drop. She felt tiny and helpless in Sandor's shadow, and she knew she could do absolutely nothing. He was her husband, and he could do as he pleased with her and no one can tell him otherwise.

They saddled their horses and began traveling south towards the Eyrie. They traveled in complete silence; no friendly banter or teasing as was the norm between them. Celeste was fighting back her tears, Sandor's words still ringing in her ears as if he'd just barked them at her. She felt worthless, like something to be used and then discarded just as dismissively. She thought there was something good underneath Sandor's ruthless exterior, but she was wrong. He was just as nasty as everyone rumors him to be. He's probably as horrid as his brother if provoked.

When they stopped for the day, the fire was started and stoked for warmth. Arya lay asleep on her small sheet and Sandor was on his back using his saddle for a pillow. Celeste went for her satchel and pulled out her extra sheet, laying it near the fire. Before she could lay in it, Sandor's voice called out to her over the crackling of the fire, "Woman."

She didn't reply. She'd laid herself down when he called out to her again, more firmly this time, "Woman."

"What do you want?" she snapped, trying to keep her voice steady. There was a moment of silence before he replied, "I won't sleep without you."

"You will sleep alone tonight, and for the nights to come," Celeste seethed, astonished he was even asking her to sleep near him, "I hope your nightmares plague you for the rest of your life."

She heard him sigh before saying, "The only reason you're still alive and untouched is because I'm strong enough to protect us both. That farmer is weak and can't protect himself or his daughter—no amount of silver is going to save them—"

"I don't want to hear your voice, Sandor," Celeste spat. "Shut up and go to sleep, or don't—I don't care."

"Woman—"

"I said shut up!" she snapped.

Celeste didn't hear Sandor snore all night.


	15. Chapter 15

Saying Sandor Clegane was in a nasty mood was an understatement.

Celeste refused to speak to him or be anywhere near him. At first, he brushed her behavior aside dismissively. _She can be angry all she fucking likes_, he thought bitterly. When she'd cook, she'd hand Arya her meal, but forced him to serve himself. He hasn't heard her voice save for the few times he'd overhear a conversation between Celeste and Arya, only for them to go silent when he was within earshot. He hasn't gotten a full night's sleep and was in a fouler mood than usual, and his nightmares would jerk him out of the little sleep he did manage to get. Oddly enough, his nightmares had nothing to do with fire or the ghosts of those he's guilty of killing—he dreamt of that disgusting Lannister soldier at the inn raping Celeste, and Sandor couldn't get to her no matter how hard he tried. It's been a recurring dream for the past week, and he can't seem to shake it despite his attempts to avoid thinking about the woman giving him the cold shoulder.

One afternoon, they'd stopped to set camp. As he set up his bedding, Celeste told Arya she was going to bathe in the river. Sandor raised his eyebrows at the mere thought of it. He hasn't wanked off in a while and a part of him was screaming at him to do so, but her attitude towards him was frustrating him to no end and it discouraged him from watching her bathe altogether.

"You need to apologize to Celeste," Arya suddenly said from behind him. Sandor snarled, "Fuck off, girl."

"I haven't seen her smile in days," she began. "Every time you're around, she's in a bad mood; you're like the bastard no one wants."

"You have a heavy set of balls to talk to me like that, girl," he turned to tower over her small form. She stood her ground defiantly, "At least I'm not afraid of apologizing."

"Apologizing is for cunts,"

"Says the biggest cunt in Westeros at the moment."

"Girl, I'm warning you—" he began through clenched teeth, but she cut him off. She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration, "You're both in a bad mood and I can't take it anymore! You need to apologize!"

Sandor let out a growl, contemplating his reply for a few seconds, "She'll never fucking forgive me."

"Yes, she will!" Arya nodded. "You know her!"

Sandor rolled his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, the girl was right. He wanted things to return to normal again but brooding and ignoring each other wasn't going to fix things and this certainly wasn't going to dissolve away on its own. He robbed an innocent man when he'd been so generous to them, and he threatened to rape her when their encounter with Polliver and his men was still fresh in her mind. Sandor didn't know which she was angrier about—women are so fucking difficult to understand. If she were a man, they would've just had a fist fight, and then would've gotten drunk to numb the pain and forget what the fight was about.

When Celeste returned from her bath, Arya met his eyes and nodded her head towards her suggestively. Sandor frowned and mustered every fiber of courage and good in him to approach her. Celeste was visibly uncomfortable when he neared her, but she refused to look up at him as she stirred the pot of stew she was beginning to put together.

"Woman," he began, eyeing Arya again, who nodded encouragingly. He continued, "I apologize for robbing the farmer and saying I'd rape you."

That made her look up, her clear blue eyes widened in a mixture of anger and shock. He cleared his throat at her silence, "Did you not fucking hear me?"

"I did," she frowned. "And I don't accept your apology."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Perhaps_ you're_ the one who needs to learn a thing or two about the world," she told him. "Simply apologizing as dismissively as you did isn't enough."

"Then what the fuck do you want me to do?" he was trying his hardest not to shout.

"There's nothing you can do," she stated simply.

Sandor huffed and stomped away from their camp site and towards the river. As he lividly paced the riverbed, Arya approached him. Just what he fucking needed.

"Brilliant fucking plan, girl," he taunted her. Arya frowned. "Of course she didn't accept your apology! You sounded like you didn't care!"

"I fucking don't!"

"Yes, you do," she huffed. "You and I both know you do."

Again, the girl was right, and he hated it. Sandor shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'm fucked then."

Arya was silent for a few seconds before speaking, "My mother would sometimes get angry at my father—I don't remember why, but we all knew she was when he began acting like a gentleman."

"Fuck no," Sandor cut her off, knowing where this was going. She continued anyway, "He'd carry heavy things for her and he'd help her up on her horse or up the stairs, he'd refill her goblet for her or get her a new coat."

"I'm no fucking gentleman," Sandor spat.

They ate their dinner in an awkward silence as they've been doing as of late, and then they turned in for the night. Sandor was unable to get a wink of sleep, so he opted to brood over the stupid girl's words for hours. When morning finally came, he couldn't believe what he was doing—he felt like such a cunt.

Celeste walked over to her already saddled horse. Sandor was watching her discretely and trying to ignore Arya's encouraging grin. When Celeste grabbed the sides of her saddle to climb on, Sandor offered her his hand. She stared in disbelief, but as he expected, he ignored his gesture and climbed on herself. He felt like someone slapped him across the face and seeing Arya's embarrassed smile only frustrated him further.

When they stopped to water the horses, he dismounted quickly and offered her his hand. She refused once again. That evening when they began setting camp, he told her a little too firmly, "I'll unsaddle your horse."

"I'm perfectly capable—"

"Let me, woman," he snapped. Celeste huffed and walked away, allowing Arya to appear at his side. The girl pursed her lips and gestured with her thumb and forefinger, "That was just a tad too harsh."

When Sandor glared at her, she shrugged, "Just letting you know."

He felt like her fucking servant. He would always offer his hand for her to refuse, he'd always unsaddle her horse after she'd dismount and wouldn't say a word to each other, he carried firewood for her, and he even began washing their utensils in the river after supper. As Arya stated, he was indeed the biggest cunt in Westeros at the moment. Celeste wasn't budging, but Arya kept insisting he keep it up to the point she'd get irritating. And the day he decided to hit Arya, he really didn't think it through.

"Who taught you that shite?"

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived!" Arya did a cartwheel and pointed her toothpick sword at him. "Syrio Forel: first sword to the sea lord of Braavos!"

He'd woken up this morning to see no sign of the Stark girl. When he asked Celeste where she was, she told him she was by the river nonchalantly as she untangled her hair with her fingers. Sandor was somewhat pleased Celeste was at least speaking to him albeit quickly and with little words. Nonetheless, it was progress.

"Braavos," he scoffed. "Greasy-haired little bastard, I bet. They all are."

"What do you know about anything?"

"I bet his hair's greasier than Joffrey's cunt."

"It was not!"

Sandor's eyebrows rose in mild surprise, "Was? He dead?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"He was killed!"

"Who by?"

"Ser Meryn Trant!"

Sandor couldn't hide the look of utter disbelief on his face, "Meryn Trant?_ Greatest swordsman who ever lived _killed by Meryn fucking Trant? Any boy whore with a sword could beat three Meryn Trants!"

When Sandor challenged her to show her what her Braavosi friend taught her, Arya stabbed him, her pointy sword clashing with his armor. Had he not been wearing it, she would've mortally wounded him. Angered by her naivety, he slapped her across the face with so much force, she fell onto her back.

"Your friend's dead and Meryn Trant's not because Trant had armor and a big fucking sword," he told her before giving Needle back. As he turned to go back to their camp, Arya called out to him, "Wait! Celeste is going to go mad when she finds out you hit me!"

His stomach dropped to the center of the universe. Arya had a broken lip and when she spit on the ground, it was red with blood. Sandor growled, "Well, fuck me."

"I'll tell her I fell,"

"She's not an idiot," Sandor shook his head. Arya shrugged, "She's got no way to prove it; just say you were taking a shit over there, and I'll tell her I fell while I was practicing."

"It'll happen sooner or later with all those fucking twirls and jumps," he grumbled.

Celeste seemed to buy Arya's story since she didn't argue with him when he returned from his supposed shit. Celeste gently warned Arya to be more careful as she cleaned the girl's bloody lip, and Sandor rolled his eyes when Arya grinned knowingly at him. This was setting him up for blackmail, surely—when Arya decides she wants something, she'll threaten him with telling Celeste the truth.

One early evening as he went to the river to fill the canteens with water, he spotted little white flowers by the riverbed. He studied them, remembering a song about a knight that gives a maiden a flower to make her smile. Celeste would surely know that song, wouldn't she?

He picked the delicate flower, his hand enormous compared to it as he held it between his thumb and forefinger. Feeling like the biggest oaf in Westeros, he approached Celeste as she sat on the grass running her fingers through her hair. Arya was some distance away wiping her sword down.

Sensing his presence, Celeste turned her head only to come face to face with his hand holding the small flower. Her eyes flashed up to meet his own and his throat suddenly went dry as he forced himself to speak, "Take it, woman."

Celeste did so, her delicate fingertips brushing against his calloused skin. The contact was fleeting, but it made a sensation burst in his stomach—not unlike the feeling he gets when he's about to head into battle, but not exactly. To his shock, he felt it again when Celeste twirled the flower between her fingers and her lips curled in a small smile, "There's a song about a knight that gives a woman a flower to make her smile—was that your intention?"

"I'm no knight," he shook his head. "But it fucking worked."

Celeste giggled softly and swept her hair behind her ear before placing the flower there, "It would seem so, but you are not forgiven yet."

Sandor rolled his eyes, but hearing her laugh softly eased him. _Yet_ was the key word.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the lovely reviews and the criticism! I've edited future chapters, and hopefully my dialogue is easier to read now. Thank you again and enjoy!**

* * *

Celeste began to be much more receptive. She began taking his hand when he'd offer it and she'd thank him quietly when he'd unsaddle her horse for her. She still wasn't sleeping at his side, but his nightmare of her and the Lannister soldier stopped plaguing him. Arya stopped pestering him since Celeste's mood was returning to normal, and his acts of kindness were beginning to be less of an obligation and more of a habit. They became routine and subconscious.

One early morning, they spotted a large cloud of smoke coming from a burnt farmhouse. Sandor mumbled, "Could be food."

"Could be soldiers," Arya pointed out.

With his sword drawn, Sandor proceeded carefully through the ruins of the homestead. Arya followed close behind with Needle drawn, and Celeste stayed near her, her eyes and ears at attention and her hand on the hilt of her dagger. By a destroyed well was a man, no doubt the owner of the farm. His hands were bloody as he pressed them against his wounded abdomen. He was breathing heavily as the three of them approached him.

"I tried to walk back to my hut—hurt too much," he struggled with his words. "Then I remembered they burned my hut down."

"Who were _they_?" Sandor asked.

"I stopped asking a while ago."

Sandor knelt by the man, eyeing the massive wound in his gut. It was gushing blood slowly: it would be a long-drawn death, and Sandor warned him gently, "That's not going to get better."

"It would seem so," the man nodded.

"Bad way to go," Sandor tried again. This poor farmer didn't deserve this. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Of what?" the farmer asked before nodding in realization, "I know: time to go—take matters into my own hands. The thought has occurred to me."

"So why go on?" Arya asked genuinely.

"Habit," was his honest reply.

"There's nothing worse than this," Celeste said softly.

The man nodded slowly in agreement, "Perhaps."

"Nothing isn't better or worse than anything. Nothing is just nothing," Arya pointed out.

"Who are you?" the farmer squinted at Arya, trying to get a better look at her.

"My name is Arya," she answered, and added after a pause, "Arya Stark."

The farmer was either too isolated to know of House Stark, or his mind, too clouded with death, didn't register the name. He turned his head to look at Sandor and Celeste, "You her parents?"

"Captors," Sandor replied. "We're bringing her to her aunt for ransom."

"A fair exchange," he agreed. He rambled on about his fair dealings in the past, and they listened patiently, letting him have his last words. At one point, he cleared his throat, "Could I have a drink? Dying is thirsty work."

Sandor opened his canteen just as Celeste reached for her own. He tipped it over the man's lips, letting him take a few sips of water. When he finished, he sighed, "I wish it were wine."

Sandor eyed Celeste momentarily before replying, "So do I."

Celeste silently drew the dagger from her belt and handed it to Sandor. In one quick thrust, he stabbed the man in the ribs cleanly. He looked up at Sandor, smiling softly before death took the life from his eyes. Sandor withdrew the knife, wiped the blood off both sides on the man's sleeve, and handed it back to Celeste.

"That's where the heart is," he said solemnly. When he stood to his full height; however, a man suddenly jumped onto him and sank his teeth into his neck. Celeste let out a startled gasp as Sandor quickly snapped his attacker's neck over his shoulder and tossed him aside. Cradling his wound in his now bloody hands, he groaned in pain and glared at the other man standing a short distance away holding a steel sword.

"The fuck you doing?" Sandor spat in irritation.

The man smirked, "There's a price on your head!"

"Is that what the king does when you tell him to fuck off?" Sandor scoffed, eyeing the blood on his fingers.

To their surprise, the man revealed the biggest news they've heard in a while, "The king's dead."

The three of them eyed each other in disbelief as the man continued, "He drank poison wine at his own wedding; the price on you is for killing Lannister soldiers."

"And you thought you were going to collect it? Didn't think very hard, did you?" Sandor taunted sarcastically. Despite the pain in his neck, he felt a surge a pride when he saw Celeste crack a smile from the corner of his eye.

"You were Yoren's prisoners when he was taking me to the Wall," Arya began as she slowly approached him. "You told me you'd fuck me bloody with a stick."

"He on your little list?" Sandor asked. Celeste frowned in confusion: she was always asleep when Arya recited the names on her list of doomed men and since Sandor rarely got any sleep nowadays, he's been awake to hear Arya reciting it multiple times. To his amusement, he was the last person on the list.

"He can't be," the girl shook her head. "I don't know his name."

"What's your name?" Sandor asked.

He didn't think the man would be stupid enough to reply, "Rorge."

"Thank you," Arya drew her sword quickly and pierced his heart. With a groan, the man fell onto his knees before slumping onto the ground dead.

"You're learning," Sandor nodded in approval.

Arya wiped the blood off her sword on Rorge's shirt as Celeste asked incredulously, "What is this _list_?"

"A list as long as fucking Westeros of the people she's going to kill," Sandor told her nonchalantly.

"Lovely," Celeste rolled her eyes, seemingly unsurprised.

That late afternoon, they stopped and set camp. His wound driving him mad, he took off his armor and touched the bite with his fingers, relieved to see it wasn't bleeding anymore, but the stinging on his skin was unbearable. He turned his head to Celeste who was stoking the fire with a stick, "Woman."

She looked up and he gestured at his wound. Celeste silently understood and walked over to stand behind him, inspecting it keenly and washing it out with water from the canteen. He hissed at the feeling, "Those rat cunts."

"Bet you've never been bitten before," she joked softly, reaching for a needle and thread.

"Bet you've never had to sew human flesh before," he retorted lightly. Her breathy laugh made him feel that fluttering in his stomach again. He still didn't know what that was—he took a shit this morning, so it wasn't that, surely.

"I've had many firsts with you, Sandor," she began to pierce his skin with the needle. He let out a strangled sigh at the feeling but couldn't hold back his grunt and a curse when she hit a certain part.

"You need to burn away that horrible bit there," Arya advised. "Otherwise, it will get infected and fester."

"No fire," Sandor mumbled.

Celeste agreed with Arya, "I think she's right, Sandor."

"I know you don't like fire," Arya began. She took a flaming plank of wood from the fire and began to walk towards Sandor and Celeste. "But it will only take a second—"

Sandor stood up quickly and stepped away hastily as he yelled, "I said no fire!"

He was surprised by his own outburst; he didn't think he was capable of acting so frightened of the one thing that keeps him warm at night and cooks his food. Nevertheless, Arya desisted and dropped the plank back into the fire and sat on her bedding to clean Needle. Sandor returned to his seat on the rock and Celeste tried her best to mend the wound before he felt the need to add, "Shut up about it; shut up about everything!"

"Sandor," Celeste tried to calm him, but he continued, pointing at Arya, "Thanks to you, I'm a walking bag of silver anywhere the Lannisters hold sway—which is everywhere between where we are now and where we're going! I'm as stupid as that hog you stuck back in the village, getting myself cut and stabbed and bitten."

He rolled his shoulders in discomfort, "No reward's this much trouble; I should've never laid eyed on you."

Celeste lightly joked, "I'm glad you admit it."

Sandor brooded in silence for a few seconds before speaking, "It was just like the girl said a while back: my brother pressed me to the fire like I was a nice, juicy mutton chop."

"Why?" Arya asked.

"He thought I stole one of his toys; I didn't steal it—I was only playing with it. I thought he threw it away, so I didn't ask for it, not that he'd give it to me anyway."

Sandor felt Celeste's fingertips on the unbitten part of his neck as he continued, "The pain was bad; the smell was worse. But the worse part was that it was my_ brother_ who did it, and my father who protected him telling everyone my bedding caught fire."

Sandor eyed Celeste before meeting Arya's glance, "You think you're on your own?"

It was a rhetorical question, and it was rightfully left unanswered as Celeste finished washing his wound and stitching it together the best way she could. That night, Sandor eyed the millions of stars dotting the dark sky. His wound still stung to all seven hells, but he managed to ignore it almost completely when he felt Celeste lay herself next to him in the darkness. His stomach fluttered again. Perhaps it was hunger?

"I don't want you dreaming of your brother," she whispered to him.

"I don't dream about that cunt,"

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Sandor," she muttered, her small hand resting on his bicep. "How old were you?"

"Six, I think," he shrugged. "I don't remember much."

Celeste let out a soft sigh before speaking, "You've been forgiven."

Sandor grunted, "Don't forgive me out of pity, woman. Don't fucking insult me."

"You were forgiven a while ago," she told him. "I just neglected to tell you."

"You—" he cut himself off as he scoffed in amusement.

She giggled mischievously, "I didn't want you to stop unsaddling my horse and washing the pots in the river—it's tedious work, you know."

"I won't stop," he shook his head.

There was a brief moment of silence between them before she spoke, "I also didn't want you to stop bringing me flowers, but you never brought me another after the first one."

"I felt like a cunt doing that," he groaned.

"You did look a bit like one," she laughed heartily.

"Don't get cheeky," he smiled softly, grateful to the dark for hiding it.

It felt good to sleep soundly again.


	17. Chapter 17

Celeste always heard the stronghold of House Arryn was one of the most impregnable fortresses in Westeros, and it seems the rumors weren't wrong. As they walked along the road leading to the Bloody Gate, enormous valleys of rock towered over them. Villagers came and went, trading and buying goods and talking about the latest gossip, though it was mostly local news.

"I would've loved to see the look in Joffrey's eyes when I knew it was over," Arya admitted.

Celeste couldn't help but agree, "He was an insufferable boy."

"Nothing beats that look," Sandor added.

"You protected him for most of your life; you think you could've protected him?" Arya asked.

"I wasn't the damned wine taster," he shrugged.

"You would've excelled at that job," Celeste joked.

Sandor glared at her but continued, "The little shit deserved to die but poison's a woman's weapon—men kill with steel."

"That's your stupid pride talking—that's why you'll never be a good killer," Arya scoffed. "I'd kill Joffrey with a chicken bone if I had to."

"I'd pay good money to see that," Sandor chuckled, adjusting his armor before poking at his wound again.

Celeste smacked his arm, "How many times do I have to tell you not to pick at it?"

"You should've let me burn it," Arya tutted.

"It's a flea bite," Sandor insisted.

"That flea bite's got you walking a lot slower," Arya pointed out. The Bloody Gate was visible from where they walked, and Celeste was astonished by how stunning and utterly menacing it looked. Anyone who tried to invade the Vale of Arryn would be a fool.

"Do you think my aunt will pay for me?" Arya asked, a tinge of worry in her voice. "I've never even met her."

"Doesn't matter," Sandor shook his head. "You're her blood; family, honor—all that horseshit. It's all you lord and ladies talk about."

"I'm not a lady," Arya managed to let out before they finally stood before the impenetrable Bloody Gate.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" a guard called out, his voice echoing through the valley. The archers lining said valley all pointed their bows at them.

"The bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane, and his wife Lady Celeste Clegane," he replied. Celeste frowned at how utterly strange her name sounded when he said it aloud. He then gestured at Arya, "And this is Arya Stark, niece of your Lady Lysa Arryn."

The guard closed his eyes and bowed his head before speaking, "I offer my condolences; Lady Arryn died three days ago."

Arya burst into hysterical laughter, making it echo around the valley and sound higher pitched than it was. The guards were utterly confused by the strange reaction from the one claiming to be her niece, and Sandor was seething with boiling rage. Arya's laughter was incredibly contagious, and Celeste also began to laugh. She knew it was disrespectful to poor Lady Lysa, but she couldn't help but find the entire situation amusing, and Sandor standing next to her as livid as he was only made everything much funnier.

Their laughter subsided when they began traveling again. Now that Lady Lysa was dead, the question of who to give Arya to remained a mystery. Arya had no living relatives save for Sansa, who was most likely still in King's Landing. The only other option was to head north, but Winterfell was burned to the ground.

"My brother Jon's at Castle Black with the Night's Watch," Arya suggested as she looked over a cliff. They'd stopped to set camp and there was a storm coming by the looks of it. "We could go there."

"And what the fuck will he give us for you?" Sandor asked irritably. "Fur coats?"

"Didn't you say you had friends in Braavos?" Celeste recalled.

"We're not going to fucking Braavos either," Sandor rolled his eyes. "Anything but that."

"Then we're out of options," Celeste crossed her arms over her chest. "We either go to Braavos or her brother gives us fur coats."

"I'm going to have a shit and think about it," he pointed at Arya. "Watch her, woman."

Celeste nodded. When he disappeared behind a large rock, Celeste sat down and pulled out her sewing kit from her bag to mend a blouse she'd torn a few days ago. As she threaded a needle, Arya began walking up the slope a bit, prompting a warning from Celeste, "Don't go too far, Arya."

"I won't!" she drew Needle and began practicing her moves. Celeste felt the need to add, "And please be careful! I don't want you getting hurt again!"

"I know!" she called back.

Celeste lost track of time, but it didn't feel like it'd been fifteen minutes when she heard Arya whisper, "There's people coming."

Celeste looked up to see what looked to be a very tall blonde woman in full armor and with a gold-plated sword on her belt walking towards them. Celeste stuffed her blouse into her bag and made it to Arya's side just as the woman bowed her head to them in greeting, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Celeste replied carefully.

The woman smiled softly and nodded towards Arya's sword, "I like your sword."

"What do you say, Arya?" Celeste patted her shoulder.

"Thank you," Arya muttered begrudgingly.

"Are we getting close to the Bloody Gate?" the large woman asked.

Celeste nodded in the direction, "About ten miles that way."

"Hear that, Podrick? Only ten more miles," the woman turned her head just as a stocky man carrying large bags over his shoulders managed to make it up the hill. Celeste narrowed her eyes, finding his name and his face very familiar but couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Are you a knight?" Arya asked. The blonde woman shook her head, "No."

"But you know how to use that sword?"

Celeste's eyes met Podrick's as the tall woman and Arya spoke about the names of their swords and who taught them how to fight. They silently and mutually agreed they knew each other, Celeste concluded, because they were both scanning each other's faces intently.

"Who are you?" Celeste finally asked.

"I am Brienne of Tarth," she introduced herself and gestured at the man at her side, "And this is Podrick Payne."

Now she remembered! He was Podrick Payne, a distant cousin of the mute Ser Ilyn Payne and Lord Tyrion's squire back when she was still living in King's Landing. He apparently recognized her as well, and Celeste knew he did when she saw his eyes widen.

"You're Lady Celeste," Podrick let out in disbelief. Brienne of Tarth exchanged glances between him and Celeste, "You two know each other?"

"Lady Celeste Clegane: wife to Sandor Clegane, the Hound," Podrick explained.

"I thought you were Lord Tyrion's squire," Celeste pointed out.

"Lord Tyrion has been imprisoned under suspicion of murdering the king," Podrick dipped his head sadly.

At the moment, Sandor appeared buckling his belt in place. When Podrick caught his glance, he looked mortified, "That's him; that's the Hound."

Brienne's eyes began to follow Arya as she walked before coming to the shocking realization, "You're Arya Stark. I swore to your mother I'd bring you home to her."

"My mother's dead," Arya pointed out.

"I know. I wish I could've been there to protect her,"

"But you're not a northerner,"

"No, but I swore a sacred vow to protect her."

"Then why didn't you protect her?"

Brienne looked down in what seemed to be embarrassment, "She commanded me to bring Jaime Lannister back to King's Landing."

"You're paid by the Lannisters," Sandor accused. "You're here for the bounty on me!"

"I'm not paid by the Lannisters."

"No? I've been looking at Lannister gold all my life," Sandor slowly approached Brienne. He was only a tad taller than her. "Go on Brienne of fucking Tarth: tell me that's not Lannister gold."

"Jaime Lannister gave me this sword," Brienne nodded.

Arya cut her off in irritation, "Bloody Gate's ten miles!"

"I swore to your mother—"

"I don't care what you swore!" Arya snapped. Celeste took hold of Arya's shoulders to bring her close, feeling the rumblings of a fight about to begin.

"You heard the girl: she's not coming with you," Sandor drew his sword halfway, and Brienne responded in like. He hummed, "Valyrian steel—I've always wanted some Valyrian steel."

"Arya, come with me and I'll take you to safety—" Brienne began, but Sandor cut her off abruptly.

"Safety? Where the fuck's that?" Sandor barked. "Her aunt in the Eyrie's dead! Her mother's dead! Her father's dead! Her brother's dead! Winterfell's a pile of rubble! There is no safety, you dumb bitch—if you don't know that by now, you're the wrong one to watch after her."

"And that's what you're doing?" she asked sardonically. "Watching over her?"

"Aye, that's what I'm doing."

That was the catalyst. Their swords were drawn, and the steel collided loudly. Celeste took Arya's arm and fled down the hill. She heard footsteps chasing after them, and she peeked behind her to see Brienne tumbling down the hillside and Podrick running after her and Arya.

Thankfully, many rocks and cliffs aided their escape and Arya was quick enough to find an incline of large rocks that shielded them from Podrick's view as they hid behind them. They heard clanks of swords in the distance followed by a woman's scream and Sandor's grunts.

Then, it all went silent. Brienne's cries for Arya echoed through the valley before an argument between her and Podrick ensued as she chastised him for watching her fight rather than chasing Arya. All the while, Celeste covered her mouth with her hands as tears stung her eyes. This meant Sandor was dead.

Celeste tried to keep it together as Arya checked for signs of Brienne and Podrick before venturing out of their hiding spot. There was no possible way he was alive; Sandor was the type to fight to the death and surely doesn't ask for mercy. She clung to the small chance he was alive, but she couldn't find a scenario where he was.

To her utter relief, but simultaneous anguish, Sandor was at the base of a cliff, bloody and covered in dirt with his armor torn open at the shoulder. Blood ran down his neck, his hands were cut and bloody as well, and bone was protruding out of his right thigh. He coughed, and blood splattered over his lips.

Tears fell over Celeste's cheeks as she threw herself on her knees at his side. She dug her fingers into her hair, not knowing what to do to ease his pain or dress his wounds. This seemed impossible to fix, and he was well-aware of it as he turned his head to look at her, "I'm done, woman. Don't fucking cry."

"No, you're not," she shook her head, reaching into her satchel to pull out her canteen, her sewing kit, and whatever spare fabric she had.

"Fuck that, woman; I'm done," he coughed blood again and then turned his head towards Arya, "Girl, you remember where the heart is?"

"No, Sandor!" Celeste cried and watched Arya nod her reply to him.

Sandor nodded, "Fuck it, I'm ready. It'll be another name off your little list—you promised to put a knife through my eye and out the back of my skull."

"You're on her list?" Celeste blinked.

"Aye, for killing that stupid butcher's boy. He was begging for mercy and the little cunt bled all over my horse! Saddle smelled like butcher's boy for weeks."

Arya suddenly stood from the rocks and Celeste's stomach dropped. Sandor was laughing nervously, thinking he angered Arya enough to force her hand, but he thought wrong. She reached for Celeste and pulled her out of earshot from him. Sandor was incredibly annoyed and yelled, "Kill me!"

"You're not going to leave him," it was more of a statement than a question.

Celeste shook her head, "No."

"He's probably going to die,"

"Most likely,"

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't know about Brienne of Tarth, but Podrick is a good man; Lord Tyrion was always with him and they seemed close."

"I'm not going with her," Arya shook her head.

Celeste smiled knowingly, "You'll go see your friends in Braavos, I assume?"

Arya nodded. Celeste reached into her satchel to give her the last of their gold and silver, "Here, take it for your journey."

Arya took the bag but opened it and gave her half of the coins. "Dead men don't need silver, but you won't be dead after he's gone."

Celeste smiled and brought her close for a tight hug. "I wish you the very best in everything you do, Arya; I hope our paths cross again someday."

"I hope so too," she smiled. "I promise I'll bathe more often."

Celeste laughed softly. "And remember to mind your manners."

"I won't promise that," she joked.

Celeste watched the girl walk down the path until she disappeared over a hilltop. All the while, Sandor was yelling at the top of his lungs.

"_Kill me!_"


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who continues to read and show your support! Enjoy!**

* * *

Sandor begged for Celeste to kill him, to stab him in the heart with her dagger and put him out of his misery. He begged her and even cried, his tears mixing with the blood and dirt as she wiped his face clean. She cleaned his wounds carefully and tried to bandage his leg as best she could, her stomach turning at seeing the bone sticking out of his skin. He grabbed the neckline of her blouse and brought her close, trying to frighten her, "Fucking kill me, woman!"

"I will not," she removed his hand from her blouse and continued to clean his skin with water and a cloth. She tried to give him water to drink, but he spit it out. When the sun began to set, she lit a small fire and tried to get him to eat the fruit she had on her, but he refused it. At nightfall, it began to rain, and she laid next to him, covering them both with a blanket to shield them somewhat from the downpour.

Celeste was preparing herself for his death; for that one morning she'd wake up and he wouldn't be breathing anymore. She thought about burying him and digging the hole with her dagger and hands and how much she'd struggle to push him into the shallow grave. She thought about after his death; where she'd go and what she'll do. Sandor would constantly remind her he was as good as gone, to kill him, to rid herself of him. He'd try to anger her by saying her father was a weak man, that he should've raped her and beat her when she defied him, that he was only acting kind towards her so she'd do him sexual favors in the future. He even revealed that he'd hit Arya the day she told Celeste she fell while practicing with Needle. Celeste ignored his attempts to anger her. He eventually gave up and would even accept sips of water when she offered them. He still refused to eat; however, despite Celeste clearly hearing the rumbles of his stomach.

It was early in the morning marking three days after Sandor's fight with Brienne of Tarth. Celeste was woken up by the sound of hooves and the creaking of a wooden carriage in the distance. Standing up and drawing her dagger, she watched as a man atop of a horse-pulled wagon approached them. He was a middle-aged man with grey streaks in his unruly black hair and wore peasant clothing. A pendant bearing the symbol of the Seven hung around his neck.

"Seven blessings," he greeted her. His eyes caught glance of Sandor. "Is he dead?"

"Sleeping," Celeste responded. "But nearly dead."

"I'm Septon Ray," he introduced himself as he jumped off his wagon.

Celeste held out the dagger, "Don't get any closer."

"I won't hurt you, my dear," he shook his head. "He's mortally wounded; I'd like to help you."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I would say because I'm a septon, but it seems that won't convince you much," he joked lightly before pointing to his right. "A few more miles that way, I have a congregation of villagers that have chosen to live outside of society and live in peace away from the war that plagues Westeros. There is a healer among them, and he can help your husband."

"How did you know he was my husband?"

"I assumed," he smiled. "I see it in your eyes; you love him."

Celeste looked back at Sandor sleeping silently. Septon Ray smiled and neared her, touching her arm in reassurance, "You are welcome to our village, my dear, and I will do everything in my power to help you and your husband."

Finding no better alternative, Celeste agreed. With a struggle, they managed to load Sandor up into the back of his wagon filled with barrels of food supplies and building tools he'd bartered from a nearby marketplace. Sandor was barely conscious as they did so; he was weak from refusing to eat and from the severity of his wounds. When Celeste took a seat next to the septon, he snapped the reigns of his horse and the wagon began to move forward. He offered her some bread he carried in a bag and as she ate it hungrily, he nodded towards the back of his wagon, "He's the Hound, isn't he?"

Celeste's eyes widened in shock, and he chuckled at her reaction, "Those burn scars are notorious, my dear. I was once a soldier myself and heard all the stories about him—though I never knew he was married."

"We were forced to marry by King Joffrey," she explained.

"But you grew to love him?"

Celeste sighed softly, "I don't know why, but yes."

"Love is strange that way," he laughed. "We don't know why it strikes us, but when it does, it's a wonderful feeling, isn't it?"

Celeste smiled and blushed. Septon Ray smiled as well, "I never got your name, dear."

"Celeste,"

"A heavenly name," he nodded. "It suits you."

Celeste was relieved Septon Ray was telling the truth: his congregation consisted of at least twenty or so men, women and some children, all farmers or peasants wishing to live remotely and follow the will of the Seven. They were in the beginning stages of building what seemed to be a sept, having set down the foundation, but were still cutting down enough trees for wood to build it. Tents protecting stoves and a mess area from the elements were set up as were other tents here and there, most likely for the villagers' own personal living spaces. It took six men to carry Sandor to the healer's tent, laying him down on the bedding. The healer inspected his wounds, telling Celeste his observations, "The bite mark on his neck has festered; he'll be getting a fever soon. The cuts on his hands are properly bandaged; I commend you for it. The bone on his thigh will have to be set; it will take the longest to heal and will cause him the most pain."

The healer wasn't wrong. The same six men that brought him in had to hold him down as he thrashed violently when the healer tried to set his bone back into place and splint it with leather ties and two blocks of wood. Sandor lost consciousness during the procedure, giving the men holding him down much needed relief.

Then the fever came. Celeste barely slept as she kept wetting his forehead with the coolest water she could get her hands on. The healer would give him herbal drinks, but they only seemed to work temporarily in reducing his fever. It gripped him like a vice; Sandor was sweating and shook with violent chills and would beg for a blanket when he wasn't asking to be killed. Sandor hallucinated and spoke gibberish often, knocked over the healer's tools and herbs, smacked a bowl of water from Celeste's hands, and yelled at the ghosts only he seemed to be aware of.

"_Why don't you just fucking kill me!_"

His splint would often come off from his violent thrashing, and sometimes he'd lose consciousness for hours and then return in a fit of rage. He'd tell Celeste to fuck off, and he'd call the healer and Septon Ray cunts any chance he got. He didn't seem to recognize who he was talking to and wasn't aware of his own actions.

Celeste lost track of those stressful days and sleepless nights. She'd rarely leave his side, and the women in the village were kind enough to bring her food and water during meal times. The day Sandor's fever broke, Celeste was utterly relieved. He was waking up from another unconscious episode and spoke in a raspy voice, "Water."

Celeste filled a ladle with water and tipped it over his lips. He drank hastily, sighing when he drank it all and was able to speak clearly, "More."

She did so two more times before he was sated. She joked, "That's the first time you've ever asked for water rather than wine."

He reached for her, grasping the hem of her shirt and tugging at it weakly, "Don't leave me, Celeste."

She shook her head, her name sounding so foreign, yet so heartfelt, "I've never left you."

"Don't leave,"

"I won't, Sandor."

His eyes flashed about, seemingly unfocused, "Where the fuck is this?"

"We're in an isolated village," she explained. "Septon Ray brought us here."

"Don't leave me, Celeste," he repeated.

She fought the tears in her eyes as she held his hand in hers, "I'm not going anywhere."

Days went by, and Sandor's senses were returning to him. His mind was clear of the fever, and while the pain in his leg was still aggravating, he was speaking coherently. Septon Ray properly introduced himself, and Sandor admitted he didn't remember him at all despite being in the village for weeks.

"I'm not a fucking child," Sandor insisted as Celeste held up a spoonful of vegetables for him.

"I've been hand feeding you since we've been here and you haven't complained."

"I was off my head," he took the spoonful in his mouth before adding, "And you bloody know that."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," she scolded lightly.

His monstrous appetite was returning. Celeste joked he was eating for all the days he hadn't been able to. To her surprise, she saw him crack a smile. The bone in his leg had yet to heal completely but was properly set and the skin was beginning to heal. It still pained him to move it, but the healer insisted he exercise it frequently, so it wouldn't go numb in the splint.

"Your leg weighs a ton!" Celeste huffed as she lifted it to help him.

Sandor only chuckled, "This is why women can't do shite."

"I fed you for weeks," she retorted lightly, "Without me you would've starved."

"Aye, and I'm sure you made this shirt for me, too,"

"In fact, I did!"

Septon Ray carved Sandor a crutch for him to use and get around while he still healed. When he emerged from the healer's tent for the first time, everyone stared. They'd never seen him stand at his full height before; he towered over everyone in the village. To Celeste's dismay, the entire village was a bit wary of him and avoided meeting his glance. They'd heard his yells and incoherent cries during his hallucinations, the six men that held him down would tell them stories about how inhumanly strong he was, and his burn scars were a subject of speculation and rumors. Sandor was a scary man, and even if they didn't know of his reputation, his presence still made people fear him.

"Don't look so bloody upset, woman," he told her before hissing in pain. He'd tried to put a bit of weight on his leg, but it hurt to all seven hells. "I've been feared all my life; now's no different."

By the fifth month, Sandor was able to walk without a crutch, but walked with a slight limp. The healer assured him the limp wasn't permanent and insisted he try not to overexert himself. Celeste made sure of that and would order him to rest when he'd try to put too much weight on it or walk for longer than he was supposed to. To her relief, Sandor didn't argue with her.

"I can't believe you're listening to me," she pointed out.

He shrugged as he ran his hand over his thigh to soothe his muscles, "I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you."

"That fever turned you into a patsy," she joked. He let out an amused scoff.

Soon enough, Sandor and Celeste moved out of the healer's tent and began sleeping in their own. It was just large enough to allow Sandor to lay down without having to bend his knees. Despite the space, Celeste still slept close to him, not that they'd want it any other way. His warmth was addicting, and she was his charm against nightmares. As the crickets chirped outside, Sandor whispered in the darkness, "You like it here, don't you?"

"I do," she nodded. "The villagers are kind, and we owe everything to Septon Ray. He saved both of us."

He hummed in response. Celeste looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes making out his silhouette in the darkness, "You like it here too?"

"I can't stand the fucking sermons every other minute."

Celeste giggled, "I'll take that as a yes."


	19. Chapter 19

"He carries an entire log himself," one of the women pointed out, stirring the pot of stew. Celeste smiled softly as another village woman chimed in, "It takes four men to carry those logs and your husband does it alone!"

The limp was gone, and Sandor began helping with the construction of the sept; the form of the building was already coming together and towering over their isolated village. Obviously, Sandor's monstrous strength was always a reason to be awed, and he was always given the heavier tools to work with and carry around because he did so easily and much more efficiently. Celeste noted he still had an issue with socializing and working with others: he usually chopped wood and worked alone, stayed away from the other men, and would not take part in the men's banter or conversations as they worked.

"He's not big for nothing," Celeste smiled, feeling a surge of pride knowing it was her husband they were so impressed by. "He's very strong; he was a soldier once."

"I bet you like that," one of the older women smirked suggestively. "I'm sure you feel like a feather when he has his way with you."

Celeste blushed at the thought. The woman laughed, "I'm teasing you!"

Celeste would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it. Celeste was integrated quickly into the married women's circle who did the important chores of cooking, laundry, and sewing. They usually teased her and asked her questions, pointing out how different she and Sandor were in looks and temperament: Sandor was rugged and intimidating while she was so pretty and friendly. Celeste would often change the topic or refrain from answering because she had no answer. Their marriage remained unconsummated; she had no experience and was ignorant of all the things the women referenced while they talked and the innuendos they'd make often flew over her head.

Celeste came to the conclusion that her marriage to Sandor was nothing but a partnership without the intimacy of a husband and wife. She loved him, but there was a part of her that insisted Sandor was incapable of feeling the same way. Celeste has yet to bring herself to accept that her feelings will never be reciprocated.

Meanwhile, the fluttering in Sandor's stomach when he would see Celeste was still a mystery to him. The feeling would sometimes annoy him: it would render him motionless and his hands would tremble like he was a coward soldier during his first battle. He doesn't remember much of his time when he was in the healer's tent thrashing with a deadly fever, but he does remember seeing Celeste, though he doesn't recall anything she ever said or did. He remembered her face looking over him, but it was blurry. He liked the thought of knowing Celeste never left his side when he was left battered by Brienne of Tarth, and she never left his side in the healer's tent either. He doesn't understand why she's still at his side to begin with.

"Here you are," Celeste leaned down to hand him his bowl of soup and bread. "Since you never want to go and get it yourself."

Sandor took the bowl from her. As she turned away, he called out to her, "You aren't going to eat?"

"I'm helping with the serving," she responded. "I'll be back when I'm done to keep you company."

Sandor's stomach fluttered when her small hand gently touched his shoulder before she made her way back to the other women serving food. He always sat away from the others, not that they wanted to be near him in the first place. He's used to the loneliness, but he ate in mild annoyance without Celeste. He wanted her here with him.

A hand with a cup of water suddenly appeared next to him. Sandor looked up momentarily, and seeing it was Septon Ray, he took the water from him without a word.

"I think some of the men are a bit afraid of you," he began.

Sandor sipped his water with a shrug, "I'm used to it."

"Some are afraid of your wife, too."

"Why the hell would they be afraid of her? She can't lift a fucking bucket of water."

"They're afraid of her because they're afraid of you," Ray took a seat on a smooth rock next to him. "Fear by association."

"Doesn't seem like it," he nodded over to Celeste as she chatted with the other women serving soup and bread. "She's having the time of her bloody life."

The septon smiled, "I wondered what kept you going all those days you had that bone sticking out of you and with that hellish fever; I reckon you died a dozen times, and yet, here you are."

Sandor looked up at Ray as he continued, "She kept you going, didn't she?"

"She's an irritating woman."

"You don't mean that," Ray smirked knowingly and patted his knees before standing up. As he walked past him, he patted Sandor's shoulder and leaned down to whisper, "She's madly in love with you, Clegane."

The scowl on Sandor's face could be seen from the Wall. He didn't have the chance to respond to the septon's ridiculous statement because Celeste appeared, greeting him sweetly, "Good afternoon, septon. I hope my husband hasn't been rude?"

"Not yet, anyway," Ray chuckled and left them alone. Sandor glared daggers at the septon as he walked up the slope.

Celeste took her first bite of her loaf of bread, following his glance before asking, "Are you alright?"

Sandor grunted, "Fine."

* * *

The days were mild, but the nights were getting colder and colder. As such, the tents were becoming very useful when sleeping outdoors as they did. Celeste found it amusing how Sandor always found a way to pitch the tent as far away from the others as humanly possible—he was always going on about how everyone avoids him, but he actively avoids everyone as well. She sadly assumed he most likely does so to save everyone the trouble.

The wind whistled loudly outside, making the thick fabric swish in the darkness. She watched him make himself comfortable on his back, with one hand behind his head and the other on his abdomen. The night was dark, but the waxing moon made his form and his features distinguishable. Celeste laid down, scooting herself closer to him and closed her eyes. However, she noted Sandor wasn't asleep; he wasn't snoring.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Nothing,"

"It's not nothing. I know you."

"Why are you still bloody here?" he asked suddenly.

Celeste was confused by the question, "What do you mean?"

"Why are you still here with me? You've had so many bloody opportunities to leave me and you're still fucking here. Why?"

Celeste was taken aback by his question and in all honesty, she had no idea how to respond. She stammered, "I…I just…"

"Just what?"

Celeste frowned and pushed herself up on her elbow to get a better view of his face, "Why do you sound so angry at me?"

He grumbled something under his breath and avoided her eyes, "You tell people I'm your husband like it's something to be fucking proud of, like I'm the best fucking catch in Westeros. Why the fuck?"

Celeste answered as truthfully as she could, "Because I like being your wife."

"We've never even fucked."

"I…" Celeste bit her lip, embarrassed by the words she was letting escape her, "I wouldn't exactly mind."

Silence wafted between them, the darkness only making the air thicker with tension. Sandor, who'd been avoiding her eyes all this time, held her gaze fiercely. Celeste only noticed the space between them was getting smaller and smaller when their lips met. The shy kiss was scratchy because of his full beard, but it wasn't unpleasant.

Sandor pulled away quickly, "Don't fuck with my head like this, woman."

Right then and there, she realized what this was all about. He needed reassurance, because he damn well didn't believe it. Celeste has always been amazed with this man's cynicism. She smiled at him, her flushed cheeks probably visible to him in the darkness, "Is it so hard to believe I've fallen in love with you?"

Celeste had never seen his eyes glimmer like that before. Perhaps it was the moonlight seeping through the tent, or perhaps it was just her imagination, but she was sure she saw relief in them. Utter and breathtaking relief, like the world was just taken off his shoulders and given to someone else to hold.

Their lips met and moved slowly. Celeste's stomach was doing flips as a shiver rode through her and left gooseflesh behind. Her trembling hands held onto his broad shoulders before seeking the skin of his neck. She felt the jagged skin of the scar left behind from that insane man that bit him. Another shiver swept her body when he parted from her lips and kissed her neck. When she giggled, his breath was hot against her skin, "What?"

"Your beard tickles," she told him, her voice wavering from nervousness. To her delight, he let out a breathless chuckle and met her eyes. They were soft, and it almost made her melt—the way he was looking at her would make any woman weak to the knees. It was so uncharacteristic of him, and yet, it suited him.

His hands reached for her blouse, untying the drawstrings at the front before trailing down to the hem. She didn't stop him, so he pulled the fabric up and over her head. He stared at her bare chest, as if committing it to memory.

Celeste always knew how large his hands are, and they certainly looked monstrous compared to her small breast as his fingers lightly squeezed her soft flesh. When his thumb brushed over her nipple, she jumped at the sensation. He didn't look startled; in fact, a small smirk spread across his lips. If Celeste knew any better, she'd say he expected that reaction.

"I've never fucked a virgin," he admitted, his thumb brushing over her nipple again. Celeste sighed at the strange, yet very pleasant feeling. He leaned in to kiss her neck, "I don't know the bloody rules."

"Me neither," she gasped when he kneaded her breast gently. An odd feeling began to pool between her legs and it was becoming a bit uncomfortable. Celeste reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged at it. Sandor understood the subtle message and took his shirt off. Celeste has seen him bare chested only a few times while they still lived in King's Landing and while he was feverish in the healer's tent. She always found him very attractive: his chest and shoulders were massive, his body hair was abundant, and she could clearly see the outline of each muscle hardened from years of fighting and the scars to prove he was always victorious. She ran her fingers through his coarse chest hair and smiled when she felt his heart pounding against his chest. He was nervous too.

He leaned in to kiss her again and this time, she felt she was going to burst. Feeling his tongue against hers was an odd sensation, but it was just adding to the heat between her legs that was starting to drive her mad. Her heart skipped a beat when he gently urged her onto her back. She felt so vulnerable to him, especially when he parted from her to scan his eyes over her body. She couldn't help but squirm under his intense gaze.

"You've never touched yourself?" he asked suddenly as he ran a finger over her collarbone.

Celeste frowned, "What?"

"That's a no," he scoffed softly. He untied the drawstrings of her trousers, slipping them off her legs before doing the same with her undergarments. Celeste was as bare as her nameday, yet she didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or flattered. Sandor's gaze upon her was as intense as it was appreciative. She felt his hand touch her thigh, but when he began to push it to the side, her muscles tensed in reflex.

"Relax, woman," he told her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Celeste nodded and loosened her body, letting him spread her leg enough to have his hand settle where that feeling was driving her to madness. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut as he touched her intimately. Her body was moving out of her control; her hips were lifting off the bedding to meet every swirl of his finger. Celeste suddenly felt a strange feeling begin to build inside her; like a knot that was being pulled tighter and tighter. Celeste didn't know what was on the other side of this feeling that was gripping her.

"Sandor…"

He didn't stop; in fact, his finger moved against her faster. Celeste felt like she'd burst, and when she did, whatever noise was about to come out of her mouth was silenced by Sandor's kiss. Her body had a mind of its own as it trembled. The explosive feeling left her gasping for air and with a pleasurable, warm tingle all over her skin. She watched Sandor bring his hand to his lips and lick the finger that left her so dazed.

He kissed her hungrily and she matched that hunger. Her body was humming with the most wonderful sensation, and she couldn't get enough of his touch.

He pulled away to untie his trousers. He teased her, "Ready to see a cock?"

"You're so disgusting," she giggled nervously.

"Disgusting? I made you see fucking stars just now."

Celeste's eyes widened upon seeing him when he did away with his trousers. She'd never seen a man fully naked before her, so she didn't really have anything to compare him to. Her confused expression made him frown, "What is it?"

"I didn't expect it to look that way."

"Men get hard when they're—" he cut himself off and she knows that for her sake, he said, "excited."

"You mean horny?" she smirked. She heard one of the women refer to a man's excitement as such, and she was proud to see Sandor's shocked reaction.

"You can say that shite, but I can't?"

She smiled softly, "Oddly enough, being atrociously vulgar suits you."

Sandor kissed her deeply, his hands gently spreading her legs apart to allow him room to settle between them. She felt his hardness against her thigh, and it made her shiver. She didn't expect him to feel so hot on her skin. When he pulled away from her and met her eyes, Celeste brought her hand up to brush her fingertips over his burn scars. As expected, he flinched and turned his head away from her touch, but she persisted. Celeste could tell he was embarrassed as her fingertips traced every bump and crater, starting at his cheek and finishing at his hairless brow bone. He was silent as she did this, his eyes watching her face intently for any hints of disgust or rejection.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she whispered. Sandor graced her with a small smile and kissed her again, adjusting himself between her legs. She jumped when she felt him poke at her.

It was an odd sensation, yet surreal. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it was uncomfortable. He was slow as he entered her, and she was astonished by the feeling of a man penetrating her.

"You alright?" he asked breathlessly. She nodded.

When he began moving, he did so gently. It hurt somewhat and digging her nails into his back made him grunt. He was very slow, but his breathing was quick. He was restraining himself and Celeste was pleasantly surprised. The way he held her and pecked her forehead with kisses and silently asked her if she wasn't in pain would surely ruin his reputation in Westeros. It made Celeste's stomach flutter with butterflies. She felt safe in his arms and she found solace in running her fingers through his full beard, feeling the strong jaw underneath. She leaned up to press a kiss on his shoulder and whispered against his skin, letting him know he wasn't hurting her.

Sandor seemed to be content with the mild pace he set after she grew a bit accustomed to him and they couldn't resist the deep kisses that left them breathless. Sandor felt dazed and in a state of pure ecstasy. He never knew what being loved felt like, and he would always scoff at how poets in those shit songs described it as floating on a cloud or laying in a meadow of roses. But it felt exactly how they described it, and he was relieved something in this world was true amidst the lies. He didn't care about anything or anyone right now: all he cared about was the woman writhing in innocent pleasure underneath him, whispering his name into his ear like a song.

Sandor bucked his hips and grunted, "I'm close."

"To what?" she whimpered.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he groaned as his hips began to get sloppier with each thrust. He wasn't in the right state of mind to explain the nuances of sex to her. He held her close and groaned against her skin as he came. She gasped at the sensation and held onto him as he rode out his pleasure.

When the afterglow began to settle in, he collapsed on his side, immediately wrapping his arms around her to bring her against his chest. He loved the way her face fit perfectly into the crevice of his neck and he could feel her breathing on his skin and her tiny hands running through his chest hair. Sandor's never been a possessive man—he's never had anything to call his own— but Celeste was his, and if anyone tried to take her from him, he'd rip them limb from limb.


	20. Chapter 20

Celeste was accustomed to waking up at Sandor's side, but never like this. His arm was heavy as it drooped over her and his chest rumbled with his soft snores against her back. She felt safe in his arms, and his body heat was urging her to return to sleep. Alas, she knew she couldn't because she could distinguish the early rays of sunlight beaming into their tent and life in the village begins a bit after sunrise.

She stretched and whimpered at the ache between her legs. He was gentle, and it was a surreal experience, but it was uncomfortable. Oddly enough, she was eager to feel everything again. Sandor's touch set her ablaze like nothing has ever done before.

Celeste shifted, and it stirred him awake enough to stop snoring. He groaned and pulled her closer against him. She giggled, "Good morning."

He mumbled against her skin, "What time is it?"

"Not too long until sunrise."

He rolled onto his back but was still close enough for his shoulder to brush against her bare back, "I hate all the sermons, but I hate the one in the morning the most."

"You're grumpier than usual," she teased, sitting up and arching her back to stretch. She began running her fingers through her hair to detangle it, but momentarily forgot what she was doing when she felt Sandor's warm hand press against her back.

"All I want to do now is fuck you," his rough fingertips traced down the bumps of her spine.

Celeste looked over her shoulder at him, smiling at seeing him so uncharacteristically comfortable and content as he lay there. She hummed, "That sounds very tempting."

Sandor chuckled, his hand tracing the dip of her waist, "Good to know you liked fucking me as much as I liked fucking you."

"Well, I don't exactly have anything to compare you to," she teased. "Unlike you."

His expression suddenly soured, and Celeste's stomach dropped. Did she hit a nerve? She added hastily, "I don't care about the women you were with before me; I didn't mean—"

"Shut up, woman," he sat up to face her and even then, he still towered over. Her heart thudded against her chest when he took her chin and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, "I've never had a woman on her back, or look me in the eyes."

She was bold enough to ask, "How would you have them?"

"You ever see a dog mount a bitch? Or a stallion mount a mare?"

When Celeste shook her head, he rolled his eyes, "For fuck's sake, woman."

"I've never had the pleasure of seeing animals mount each other."

Sandor took a deep breath before he spoke. He seemed almost ashamed, "They'd be on their hands and knees, and I'd fuck them from behind. _Hard_. And _rough_."

Celeste tried to imagine how that looked, frowning at how awkward it must be to be taken from behind in such a manner. He pressed his lips on hers gently, tickling her with his beard before parting from her, "I'll never fuck you like that; you deserve better."

They dressed for the day and sat along with the rest of the village to listen to Septon Ray's morning mass. Normally, Sandor was grumpy in the morning because he hated sermons and breakfast was served only after the septon was done. Sandor thought he'd be especially annoyed this morning, considering all he wanted to do was have Celeste in his arms and preferably naked. To his surprise, he was in a pleasant mood and felt like anything that might have once annoyed him would just fly over his head. Septon Ray went on about how mornings were a blessing, and Sandor listened somewhat; Celeste's head resting on his shoulder was incredibly distracting.

"Waking up itself is a blessing, and one should always be grateful to be given the chance to experience another day," Septon Ray continued, glancing around his congregation. Sandor wasn't even annoyed when the man noticed him and his wife in such a comfortable state and smiled knowingly, "You should also be grateful for the love of others; even if you think yourself unworthy of it, or incapable of it. Every one of you is worth it and deserves it. Those who truly carry love in their hearts will love unconditionally."

It was hard to focus on their respective chores that day. Celeste had to redo the stitches of a skirt she was mending twice because her mind was elsewhere. To her dismay, the other women were quick to deduce why she was distracted.

"That husband of yours kept you up?" one of them smirked. Celeste blushed profusely. Gods, were they too loud last night? Did the entire village hear them consummate their marriage at last?

"Why do you ask?" Celeste tried not to stammer.

"I know that look," she pointed her knitting needle at her. "You look like a blushing newlywed bride."

"I'm jealous, really," another sighed. "I wish I could still have my husband in bed and have it feel like the first time again—not that I don't enjoy it, but there's nothing like the first time."

"Here, here," the other women agreed in unison. Celeste smiled. If only they knew.

Sandor was equally distracted. He normally worked alone and didn't share conversations with the other men, so his mind would wonder, and he'd sometimes find himself scanning the village for Celeste. When he would catch sight of her, that fluttering in his stomach would occur. She was usually smiling with the other married women, or was braiding a child's hair, or mending a torn sleeve.

They ate lunch together that afternoon in comfortable silence. They exchanged words here and there, but their longing glances spoke for them. They desperately wanted to be alone but sitting next to each other and sharing a meal was satisfactory for the time being. The same went with supper and when Septon Ray began his evening sermon, their patience was running thin. The septon didn't make his sermon too long though—if they knew any better, they'd say he did it on purpose.

"Remember to always thank the Gods for the life you've been given, and for the people who make that life worthwhile," he smiled.

The moment they entered their tent, Sandor grabbed Celeste and pulled her underneath him to attack her neck hungrily. She giggled at his beard tickling her skin and she pushed at his chest playfully, "The other villagers are still awake; let's wait."

"Fuck them,"

"They'll hear…"

"Let them,"

"Sandor…"

He sighed, lifting himself up to look at her. She looked delicious laid out underneath him like she was, and his mouth watered like a hungry dog presented with a leg of meat. He removed his shirt over his head, "I've been waiting all fucking day for this."

"It's flattering to see you so eager to have me," she giggled, reaching out to touch his scarred cheek. He winced out of habit but didn't pull away from her, letting her do as she pleased before he tugged her trousers off. When he tossed them aside, he leaned down to kiss her neck.

"I've never tasted a woman," he brushed his lips against her ear.

"You'd never kissed a woman before me?"

She knew she made the wrong assumption when he rolled his eyes, "You're not allowed to kiss whores, but that's not what I meant."

Celeste never would've guessed what he meant until he made his face disappear between her legs. She was shocked and embarrassed, but it felt so pleasurable. She had to bite her lip and cover her mouth to avoid crying out. He anchored her hips down with one hand easily when she began to thrash with that explosive feeling that was so difficult to describe, yet she didn't care for an explanation—she just loved when it overwhelmed her and left her breathless. She was panting and red to the face when he pulled away from her, kissing her inner thigh before kissing her lips. Celeste felt naughty saying it, but she knew he'd find it amusing, "Was it better than wine?"

His deep chuckle made her heart thump in her chest, "You're getting smarter, woman."

Sandor began undoing the drawstring of his trousers but was pleasantly surprised when Celeste plopped herself up on her elbows and placed her hands on his own, "Can I do it?"

Sandor could see the curiosity in her big blue eyes and clearing his throat, he nodded. He's never allowed the whores he's been with to undress him; he's always stayed with his armor on and fucked them as if he was just pulling his cock out for a piss. He was shocked when he made himself completely vulnerable to her last night, and now he was doing so again. He was usually wary of whores touching him because they'd pickpocket him for more gold, but Celeste was with him because she wanted to, and it was the strangest feeling. He's never been wanted before.

He watched her small hands untie his drawstrings and pull them down. He was flattered when her eyes widened at the sight of him. When she curled her fingers around him, his breath hitched in his throat. Celeste looked up at him, "Is that alright?"

Sandor nodded, finding no words to say, especially when she began stroking him slowly and feeling his skin with her fingertips as if committing it to memory. It was hypnotizing to him, and he hummed in pleasure as his eyes fluttered closed and his hands held onto her shoulders to steady himself.

"Does it feel good?" she asked in a whisper.

He met her glance through half-lidded eyes before reaching down to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, "Aye, it does…"

He kissed her deeply, and through their kiss her stroking quickened in excitement. He groaned into the kiss and pulled away against his will, "Easy."

"Too much?"

"Aye," he let out breathlessly. He pushed her onto her back gently before entering her slowly. They sighed in unison, and Sandor shivered at the feeling of her hands caressing his shoulders and back. When he began to move within her, they got lost in the sensation for what seemed to be an eternity. Feeling her body arch and press against his own mesmerized him, and when she whispered his name, he felt that familiar shiver run up his spine. It forced him to thrust as deep as he could and remain there until he spilled himself completely into her. It was the best feeling in the world, and his heart burst with warmth when she pecked his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.

Sandor laid on his side and absentmindedly drew circles on the palm of her hand, fascinated by how soft and small they were. He remembers when he first held her hand when they were married in King's Landing, how he was afraid he'd hold it too tightly and possibly break her delicate fingers. Even now, he was afraid of leaving a mark on her and felt a tinge of guilt at seeing her neck was slightly red because of his beard. She was too lovely to have any sort of mark on her and Sandor found himself eyeing all the parts of her he could remember grabbing onto while he made love to her. He was so preoccupied, he almost didn't hear her when she spoke, "From what I've gathered, it seems you've had a few firsts with me."

Sandor nodded slowly, hesitantly reaching for her hair and trying to be as gentle as possible with her soft curls between his massive fingers, "No one's ever wanted me for free."

"I'm glad I was the first woman you kissed."

"You would be," he rolled his eyes.

"Do you love me?"

Sandor didn't know how to answer her question. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I've never loved anyone before," he shrugged. "I wouldn't know what the fuck it feels like."

"Well," she began, reaching out and pressing her palm against his upper abdomen, "Do you get a strange sensation here when you see me?"

When Sandor's eyes widened in shock, she grinned knowingly, "That's what being in love with someone feels like."

"So that's what the fuck that is," he scoffed. "I thought I had to shit."

Celeste giggled, "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Aye," Sandor nodded before taking her shoulder in his hand and pushing her onto her back. Celeste let out a laugh as he tickled her neck with his beard and settled between her legs once again, "But this feels fucking better."


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: I hope everyone is enjoying these past few chapters! It's been fun to write them! Thank you for the support as always!**

* * *

They couldn't keep their hands off each other. They were making love every single night, and the more they did, the sweeter it became. He'd melt at the sight of Celeste; ever since she pointed out what the fluttering in his stomach actually was, he's thrown himself completely into the feeling. He finds himself staring at her, to the point where she's had to call out to him to snap him out of it. He's grumpy when she's away from his side for too long, and he's thankful all the men are afraid of him and don't dare to go near her. He's begun to enjoy his new life of peace, but he knows he's capable of killing a man, or multiple men, if they even so much as raise their voice at his woman.

"The Gods aren't done with the likes of you; they have plans for Sandor Clegane," Septon Ray insisted.

Sandor eyed him skeptically. Celeste had left his side after finishing their afternoon meal to help with the cleanup and Ray decided to keep him company. Sandor has been wondering why he's still alive following his near-death experience. Why has he been offered a second chance at redemption? And why has he been blessed with a woman he never thought would love him? With all he's done, he doesn't deserve any of it.

"You didn't know me back in my time," Sandor narrowed his eyes. "You don't know the things I've done."

"I've heard stories."

"If the gods are real, why haven't they punished me?"

"They have," Ray told him and left him alone with his thoughts.

He was distracted that night, and Celeste noticed. She sat cross-legged in their tent, running her fingers through her hair as he laid near her on his back. His hand found its way underneath her blouse, and he absentmindedly caressed the smooth skin of her lower back as he stared at nothing in particular.

"What's wrong, Sandor?" she asked softly.

It took him a few seconds to put together the words. "It doesn't bother you I've killed so many fucking people? That I killed a butcher's boy and robbed that farmer?"

Celeste's face fell. "You've done those things, but I know that's not who you are."

"I enjoy killing," he told her firmly. "I enjoy fighting and sticking swords through men's guts to see the life disappear from their eyes."

"I won't say I'm not upset at the things you've done," she said. "But you're not perfect; no one is."

"You're fucking perfect."

"I'm flattered, but I'm certainly not."

"Everyone loves you; for fuck's sake, you got _me _to love you, and that's no easy fucking thing to do."

She laughed softly before shaking her head, "I'm too naïve, and I get hurt so easily over mere words; I don't have a thick skin like you, nor am I bold and fearless like Arya. I'm not physically strong, and I don't enjoy fighting, and I cry for any little thing."

Sandor remained silent as she took his hand and ran her fingertips over his palm and wrist. "You've killed with these hands, but you've protected me with them as well; you make me feel safe."

Like all the nights before, tonight was no different. Sandor always had to be mindful of his own strength when he had her hair in his hand. It was difficult not to tug her curls too roughly as he watched her head bob up and down, and feeling her tongue swirling on him had his eyes rolling to the back of his head every time. He never allowed whores to suck his cock before: they'd be too close to his pockets and he didn't like the thought of knowing they literally had him by the balls. It didn't take too long for Celeste to insist on returning the favor, and while reluctant at first, he let her even after she teased him about being the first woman to pleasure him in such a way. He guided her the first time, but she hasn't needed more coaching ever since.

"You look like you're thoroughly enjoying yourself," she mused.

"You've gotten better," he commended her. "Who knew the dainty little lady would be so good at sucking cock?"

She rolled her eyes in amusement and brought herself up to kiss his lips. "You're lucky I find your vulgarities amusing."

"Thank all those seven fuckers for that," he chuckled.

He loved the perfect view he had of her as she straddled his lap and swayed her hips to grind against him. Sandor usually had to worry about not crushing her under his weight, but like this, he could run his hands over her lovely body and feel her smooth skin. He loved feeling the bumps of her spine and the dip of her small waist and her chest against his own as she moved with him. He especially loved it when she reached her peak and threw her head back in pleasure while her nails dug into his skin. Seeing her in such a state was his catalyst, and he gripped her hips to keep them in place as he let his pleasure hit him like a tidal wave. He sighed as the afterglow warmed his body and laid back on the bedding, "You're so fucking beautiful when you do that."

"Thank you," she giggled breathlessly and leaned down to kiss him. Sandor hummed, his large hands running up her sides and then squeezing her breasts. Celeste moaned, "That hurts, Sandor."

"I barely touched you."

"They've been deathly sore lately; I'm probably about to—"

Celeste cut herself off abruptly and sprung back up on his lap, frowning in deep thought. Sandor sighed softly as he ran his thumbs over her hips, "What is it?"

"When was the last time I bled?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

She let out a nervous giggle. His eyes widened in realization, and he sat up to meet her face-to-face as she straddled his lap. "You haven't complained about bleeding since we started fucking."

Celeste giggled again, "If I don't bleed soon, expect to be a father."

"You're fucking joking," he scoffed. "Don't joke with me."

"I'm not! I wouldn't joke about that!"

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know," her face suddenly fell. "If I am, it might not be for long."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

Celeste suddenly pushed herself off him and reached for a nearby blanket to wrap herself in for warmth. "Do you remember when we still lived in King's Landing and I tricked the court into thinking I was with child and then lost it?"

"Aye, everyone was giving me fucking looks for weeks."

"The reason I knew how to make it believable was because my mother lost seven children: two before me and five afterwards," she explained. "I was the only one she managed to bring into the world alive and healthy."

Sandor reached for her, smoothing down her hair in an attempt to comfort her. She spoke before he could say anything, her voice wavering, "I did such a selfish thing that day to save my own head from King Joffrey; I remember my father didn't look at all surprised by the news—he knew I'd inherited my mother's curse."

"That's not fucking true, Celeste,"

"The Gods will punish me for that, Sandor!" she sobbed.

"No they fucking won't," Sandor told her firmly. He took her face in his hands and wiped away the tears staining her face with his thumbs, "If you lose that child in you, the Gods aren't punishing you—they'd be punishing me."

Celeste's bottom lip wavered, and he couldn't help but kiss it. He pressed his forehead to hers as he stroked her hair, "You're too good to be punished, woman. None of those seven fuckers would dare."

Celeste nodded slowly, "I usually flower during the full moon..."

"Look at me," Sandor demanded gently. When she met his eyes, he told her, "They won't punish you; I promise you that."

* * *

The full moon came and went, and Sandor's concern grew for Celeste. She was terrified of what her mother possibly passed onto her, and constantly worried about the Seven's wrath. She barely slept at night; Sandor held her close to him, but he always felt her jump awake several times in the night. In the mornings during breakfast, she was nauseous and didn't eat until well into the afternoon. Sandor was noting subtle changes in her body; her breasts looked fuller, and her reddish blonde hair was shinier and her curls were very defined. Her relatively flat belly began to protrude out, and that's when Sandor finally saw her smile, "My mother never went further than three moon cycles before losing the child."

"It's been four," Sandor pointed out. "I've been counting."

Her smile twinkled brighter than the stars beyond the ceiling of their tent. Sandor couldn't help but return the smile. "I told you they wouldn't dare punish you, woman."

"They didn't punish you either," she brushed her fingertips over his burn scars.

He didn't wince at her touch anymore. In fact, he's grown fond of it. "Aye, they didn't."

The next day, Sandor was shocked by how happy the other villagers seemed to be for him. He's never spoken more than three words with any of them, yet when Celeste let it slip to her flock of married women that she was with child, they told Septon Ray, and then Septon Ray told the other men, and then everyone knew, and everyone made it a point to congratulate him personally. During the evening sermon, Septon Ray made the announcement official.

"Congratulations!" Ray smiled at them. "We have children in this congregation, but yours will be the first birth; you bless us with the honor, and your child will bring much happiness to both of you."


	22. Chapter 22

"I think you're enjoying this too much, Sandor."

His arm was thrown over her body while his hand was shamelessly cupping one of her breasts underneath her blouse; he was amazed by how much they're growing every week. Sandor hummed against her shoulder. "Your tits are fucking huge."

"And sore," she squirmed in his arms. Sandor hummed again and trailed his hand down onto her belly. It still wasn't too big and went unnoticed underneath her loose-fitting blouse. The changes to her body were only visible to Sandor whenever she was naked before him, and the fluttering in his stomach always overwhelmed him when he saw her. Celeste was carrying his child in her, and it made him much more protective of her. It wasn't just her he had to look out for and provide for now; he was going to have a family soon, and it both thrilled and terrified him. If anyone told him he'd be having a child with his wife a few years ago, he would've punched them in the throat for saying such shite.

Sandor drew small circles around her belly button absentmindedly. Celeste turned to face him, studying his expression intently.

"I never thought I'd see you so happy," she pointed out. "You've been through so much, I didn't think you'd find joy in anything."

Her words were true. Sandor shrugged, "I didn't think so either."

"So you_ are _happy?"

Sandor met her brilliant blue eyes and nodded in response. Celeste's smile made him melt and feeling her body mold against his own so perfectly as she embraced him for a kiss made feel afloat. When she parted the kiss, she whispered, "Make love to me, Sandor."

"And the baby?" he asked, though he could already feel himself getting hard in his trousers. Very rarely was she the instigator and when she did want him, she'd let him know very subtly: she'd lure him in by removing her clothing slowly or grind against him as they laid on their bedding to sleep. She was never _this_ bold.

"Please," she purred, throwing her leg over his waist. The very tempting position made him gulp as she continued in a soft but firm whisper, "Make love to me right now."

"What the fuck's gotten into you?" he managed through clenched teeth. Celeste was grinding against him, and his restraint was waning, especially when she smirked wickedly. She knew he was aroused.

"I'm more concerned with what you can put in me at the moment."

He's never pulled his trousers off so fast. He reminded himself to be gentle with her: she's pregnant and there's no way in seven hells he'll be rough and potentially harm the baby. To his shock, it was hard to do so: she was very demanding and begged him to ravish her passionately. He sighed through his languid thrusts, "Celeste…"

"Please, Sandor, please..." she let out breathlessly against his ear. Hearing her beg in such a way, Sandor had the will of a leaf in the wind, and gave in to her demands. He moved in quick and sloppy thrusts, the sound of slapping skin embarrassing him somewhat—the other villagers must be getting an earful. Thankfully, they were both silent lovers and it was only until she came undone did she let a whimper escape her, and he followed soon after her with a grunt.

He panted and collapsed on his side, immediately pressing his hand against her belly, "You alright?"

"Yes," she managed through her heavy breathing. "I can't believe they were right."

"Who's _they_?"

"The other women," she said. "They told me pregnancy would make me incredibly horny."

Sandor scoffed at the revelation, "I should've put a bairn in you sooner."

* * *

Celeste was certainly starting to feel the changes in her body. She was sluggish and would get tired doing the simplest of tasks. Luckily, her nausea subsided entirely but she began craving certain foods that were impossible to obtain where they were. All she could do was daydream.

"My mother used to make the most delicious honey cakes," Celeste smiled as she looked down at her bowl of stew and bread. "What I wouldn't give to eat twenty of those right now."

"I'd kill for some fucking chicken," Sandor said, tipping his head back to drink the last of his stew straight from the bowl. "And some wine."

Celeste giggled at seeing the stew dripping from his beard as if he was an overgrown child. She reached into her pocket to fish out a handkerchief she embroidered herself, dabbing his top lip with the corner. "It appears I've been blessed with two children to take care of."

Sandor chuckled and took the handkerchief to finish the job himself. In curiosity, he looked at the simple design etched into it and stared in disbelief. "It's my house sigil."

"I did it all from memory," Celeste smiled. "Do you like it?"

He touched the embroidery of her initials underneath the three Clegane hounds and shrugged, "I'm not particularly proud of being a Clegane."

"I am," she grinned and patted her belly. "And this little one will be proud too."

Sandor graced her with a rare and genuine smile. Celeste added, "Do you want me to make you one?"

"I'll just keep this one," he folded it. Celeste tried to snatch it back, but he very easily held it out of her reach.

"I spent days embroidering it!"

"It's mine," he teased her.

"So much for not being proud," she joked.

It was true Sandor wasn't proud of being a Clegane. His house is known for being blindly loyal and the ones responsible for producing him and the feared Gregor Clegane. Ever since his brother was knighted after breaking every rule established by the Knighthood, raping women left and right, and killing babies in their cribs, Sandor has grown more resentful of the name _Clegane_.

Throughout the day, he gave it thought: Gregor is Kingsguard and has therefore given up his rights to hereditary titles and lands, and their father's been dead for years. By the law of Westeros, Sandor is to inherit everything. Clegane's Keep was a modest towerhouse with enough land to sustain itself and had a small village underneath. He wondered what became of it all—if it was abandoned when he and Gregor both left for King's Landing or if things remained as they were sans the ominous presence of House Clegane. He thought about what it'd be like returning to Clegane's Keep with Celeste and raising their family there. Perhaps make something happy occur within its walls for once in its bloody history.

"Are you sure you don't want me to make you one?"

Sandor looked up from the handkerchief to see Celeste detangling her hair with her fingers as she sat cross-legged in their tent. He tried to change the subject. "Your tits are bigger today than they were yesterday."

"Is that all you think about?" she rolled her eyes in amusement.

"You're sitting there bare as your nameday, woman; how can I not think about your tits?"

"It's hot in here," she shrugged as she began braiding her hair over her shoulder. When she caught his suggestive glance, she shook her head, "I'm not in the mood."

"You've been fucking my brains out for days; wearing me the fuck out!"

"You sound displeased."

"Do I?" he sounded genuinely shocked. "I'm fucking not."

Celeste laid herself at his side, running her fingers through his beard in affection. His eyes fluttered closed at her trivial gesture; he melts when she does so. He even hummed, making him seem like a kitten rather than a hound.

"I love you," she whispered to him. He only nodded, which prompted her to tut, "You're supposed to return the sentiment, Sandor."

"You know I do," he grumbled. "I don't have to tell you something you already fucking know."

"It'd be nice to hear it, though," she insisted. Sandor scoffed, and it made her laugh.


	23. Chapter 23

"You know, your behavior is not unlike a hound when you're forced to bathe," Celeste joked as she watched Sandor shake his head after he'd submerged, making the water in his long hair propel into the air. Very rarely did Sandor join her when she decided to bathe, but considering her belly was now very noticeable and she loses her balance quite often, he's put his discomfort aside to make sure she doesn't hurt herself.

To her relief, the water was warm from the afternoon sun. It felt good to bathe; Celeste's lower back has been feeling sore and her feet have also begun to hurt from the growing weight she carries in front of her all day. She submerged her head into the water, running her hands over her face before untangling her hair with her fingers. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Sandor studying her intently. She smiled, "What is it?"

"You look fucking beautiful."

Celeste giggled as a blush dusted her cheeks, "Thank you."

Sandor helped her out of the river—he would've carried her if she didn't insist she could walk out herself. He's become incredibly doting, almost annoyingly so. If left to his own devices, he would carry her everywhere and bring her anything she needed so she wouldn't have to get up and get it herself. He always kept an eye on her, and he's abruptly left his work at the sept on multiple occasions to help her with anything he deemed was too strenuous for her.

"Sandor—"

"Where do you want it?"

He walked across the field only to snatch a basket full of linen away from her, carrying it easily in one arm. Celeste sighed in defeat and pointed, "Put it over there."

As he turned in the direction, he was met with the other women also carrying baskets for the week's laundry. Within a minute, he stacked all the baskets in his arms and carried them off to where he'd been told to put them. Celeste was amused at the sight of all her friends swooning over her husband's rugged kindness. When Sandor was out of earshot, one of them leaned over to Celeste, "We should have him work with us rather than on the sept."

"I think he'd actually prefer that," Celeste joked.

"He's not so intimidating anymore," she pointed out with a smile. "The prospect of fatherhood has mellowed him."

Sandor has become much less abrasive towards the other villagers. He was still a bit uneasy when it came to mingling with the others, but he wasn't uncomfortable sitting with Celeste's friends and their husbands during mealtimes. He'd rarely speak, but Celeste could tell he was listening to their conversations.

When they turned in for the day, Sandor spent a good amount of time feeling her belly with his large hand. His touch lulled her to sleep most of the time, but tonight, the baby was very fussy inside her.

"Did you feel that one?" Celeste giggled as she felt another flutter.

"Aye, it was a big bloody kick," he chuckled. "It doesn't hurt you?"

"No, it tickles," she smiled but it quickly dissolved away when she noted the sad look in his eyes. She reached up to run her fingers through his beard, "What's wrong?"

"Do you think…" he trailed off, his eyes flashing from side to side in embarrassment before asking, "Do you think the baby will be afraid of me? Like everyone else?"

He sounded so innocent, it almost made Celeste's eyes water. "No one's afraid of you, Sandor."

"They were, but they're all used to me now," he said firmly. "Anyone that's never seen me before shit themselves and avoid me like Greyscale."

"Your baby will not be afraid of you," Celeste reassured him gently. "You'll be as good a father as you are a husband."

Sandor remained silent and pressed his fingers against her belly in an attempt to solicit a response from his unborn child. To his delight, the baby nudged him back and he smiled at the feeling, "There she goes again."

"She?"

"I want a daughter."

"Why?"

"Boys grow up to be killers, and my family's full of them."

"Don't say that," she shook her head. "Your son will have a kind heart like yours."

"Well, whatever the fuck it is, let's hope it looks like you."

"Let's also hope it doesn't have your mouth," she laughed. "I already have to deal with a foul-mouthed husband; I don't need his child following that path."

Every time Celeste had to relieve herself during the night—which was quite often—Sandor would accompany her. He grumbled irritably, but always went with her despite Celeste insisting she wouldn't go far. She felt a bit guilty Sandor was waking up two to three times in the night to stand around in the dark as she relieved herself behind a bush.

"You're pissing like a horse," Sandor mumbled, holding the flap of their tent open for her.

"It's not my fault!" she laughed, patting her belly for emphasis, "He's the one kicking me and making me have to relieve myself every ten minutes."

"_She_," he corrected her, throwing himself on their bedding.

"You're going to look very dumb when your son is born," Celeste spat playfully. He mumbled something incoherently and within a minute, he was snoring.

* * *

Following lunch, they congregated to hear Septon Ray's afternoon sermon. Sandor offered his hand to Celeste, helping her sit down on a rock while he opted to stand behind her. Septon Ray began to tell them about his time as a soldier, about how he never ran from a fight and followed orders blindly but was no less of a coward despite his superiors believing him to be brave. He shared his biggest regret: slitting a young boy's throat as his mother watched and was held back by his companions. He couldn't eat or sleep for weeks due to the shame he felt and the dreams of the boy's mother screaming her son's name.

"I can never bring the lad back, but all I can do with the time I've got left is bring a little goodness into the world," he smiled softly as he eyed his congregation. "It's never too late to stop robbing people, to stop killing people, to start helping people."

Celeste noticed Septon Ray's gaze look over her head and towards Sandor. "It's never too late to come back."

The stomping of hooves and the neigh of a horse erupted in the distance. They all turned their heads in the direction of the sounds to see three men on horses trotting towards their circle. Everyone stood as the horsemen got closer, visibly confused at seeing outsiders in their remote village. Celeste stood on her own, surprised she managed to do so without Sandor insisting on helping her. However, when he stood in front of her to shield her with his body, she knew he had one thing on his mind and that was protecting her from this potential danger.

"Seven save you, friends!" Ray began. "How can we help you?"

Celeste peeked from behind Sandor to get a look at the men. All three wore armor and carried swords on their belts, and their leader in the middle wore a bright yellow cloak lined with thick brown fur.

"What are you doing here?" the yellow-cloaked man asked.

"Well, we're talking about life," Ray answered truthfully. "You?"

"Protecting the people."

"Well, we thank you for your protection," Ray smiled. "Who are you protecting us from?"

Celeste noted his followers, a bald man and a bearded man, looked rather impatient and aloof. The leader was quick to change the subject, "Do you have any horses?"

"No horses, no gold, no steel."

"Food then?" he tried again. "Protecting the people is hungry work."

Sandor extended his arm back towards Celeste, taking her arm in his hand and bringing her close to him while still shielding her. He was holding her arm a bit too tightly, which was very unlike him, but that told Celeste he was extremely anxious about these men. It made her nervous to think Sandor was preparing himself for a fight.

"I'm sure it is, and you're welcomed to stay for supper," Ray nodded. "But we've got hungry mouths here."

The yellow-cloaked man considered the septon's words for a brief moment before smirking, "Stay safe. The night is dark and full of terrors."

Celeste recognized the phrase—it was used by those who follow the Lord of Light. She felt Sandor's grip on her relax when the three men turned their horses and galloped out of sight. Septon Ray calmed his congregation down with some jokes and a happier story about his life, but Sandor's mind was elsewhere, and Celeste knew it. When Ray finished his sermon, Celeste turned to Sandor.

"Are those men from the Brotherhood?"

"Aye," he nodded slowly. "I don't like this."

"Beric Dondarrion seemed like a very fair man," Celeste recalled. "I doubt these men will do any harm under his orders."

"Those three fucks probably went rogue."

Celeste sighed softly and touched his hand in affection, "I think you're overreacting."

He glared at her pointedly, prompting her to giggle as she rubbed her belly with her free hand, "You've gotten much more protective since I've been with child. It's your paternal instincts taking over."

He grunted in acknowledgement, prompting Celeste to smile, "Now, go to work before the men start missing you."

Sandor smirked at her before turning to walk towards the sept in the distance. Celeste watched him go for a brief moment and then trekked up the field to continue her chores of the day.

* * *

"Seven save you, friends?" Sandor mocked when he noticed Septon Ray approaching him.

"I'm a fucking septon; what was I supposed to say?" he asked in mild annoyance.

"They don't believe in the Seven—they're from the Brotherhood," Sandor explained, bringing his axe down to chop a piece of wood in half. "They follow the Red God."

"All are welcome here, but we've got nothing for them."

"Sure you do," Sandor stopped his work to point out, "You've got food, you've got steel—even if you say you don't—and you've got women."

"What do you want to do? Fight them?"

"If they come near my wife, I'll kill them all," he growled at the mere thought of it.

"It'll be you against all of them, then," Ray gestured at the village over the hill. "These people don't know how to fight."

"_You_ do."

"I'm done with fighting," Ray shook his head. "Violence is a disease. You don't cure a disease by spreading it to more people."

"You don't cure it by dying either," Sandor chopped another block of wood. "You won't protect anyone by refusing to fight."

Ray nodded slowly in contemplation before turning to start walking up to the village, "You've done enough work for one day; come on up for some supper."

"It's going to be a cold night," Sandor insisted. "We'll need firewood."

"I'll have your wife hide away some soup and bread for you," Ray smirked. "There might even be some ale when you're done."

Sandor eyed the septon as he walked away and let out an amused chuckle. Where did the pious bastard manage to get ale?

Sandor knew the nights were getting colder; Celeste was having a harder time getting comfortable to sleep with her enormous belly, and Sandor didn't want her to feel even more discomfort. Despite her inability to keep her balance and her sluggishness, Sandor found her utterly beautiful, at least more so than usual. Something about her was glowing like a star, and even when she waddled, she looked lovely. He wanted to just have her lounge around all day and do all her chores for her so she wouldn't have to lift a finger. Alas, with her radiant beauty came a feistiness uncharacteristic of her, and she firmly tells him she's up to the task of completing her chores along with the other women. Sandor will never tell her he finds her so bloody attractive when she snaps at him that way.

He lost track of time, especially when he had to venture deeper into the forest for more firewood. He chopped at the branches of the trees and sliced off any leaves or weaker branches with a smaller dagger. He realized he'd been working for hours when his arms started to grow sore from swinging the axe so many times. He stopped briefly to uncork his canteen of water and took a few sips.

When he closed the canteen was when he heard it. A woman's scream. It was faint and distant, and there was no way to tell who's cry it was, but something in him snapped.

_Celeste._


	24. Chapter 24

He dropped everything and ran through the brush, pushing aside branches and leaves as he hurried through the thick forest. He nearly tripped, and he could feel the thorns of the bushes scratching at him, but he didn't even register it. His adrenaline was making his ears pound like battle drums, and he could feel his entire body shaking from the fear he felt in his chest. The only thing he's ever feared in his life was fire, but he never thought he'd feel fear like this. He preferred to throw himself into a chasm of flames than see what he knew he was going to see. He prayed to the Seven this wasn't true, and he cursed the Lord of Light for leading those three Brotherhood bastards to them if they did indeed do what Sandor felt in his gut they did during his absence.

When he arrived, he felt his lungs collapse. The bodies of all the villagers littered the grass splattered with their blood along with the supper they'd made for the day. All their barrels of supplies were pushed over and spilled, arrows punctured children's backs, men's throats were cut open, and some of the women's skirts were pulled up while their necks still gushed blood like fountains.

He felt his skin crawl, and he was screaming internally for his legs to move but they wouldn't. His hands were shaking and despite not being able to breathe earlier, he couldn't stop now. He was gasping for air desperately but couldn't seem to fill his lungs. He was panicking, and his head swiveled around as he scanned the ground of bloodied and innocent bodies.

His legs were finally able to move him forward, and he found his strength leaving him as he tried to prepare himself for it. He knew this was all too good to be true; the Gods were vicious cunts and Sandor knew they were very capable of giving him another chance at life, show him a path to redemption, give him a loving wife and a child, and then snatch it all away to watch him learn his lesson in amusement. His will chipped away bit by bit with each step he took. He braced himself for when he'd find the corpse of his dead wife and unborn child and imagining Celeste's neck cut open or her belly gushing blood was starting to make him dizzy and sick to his stomach.

His ears picked up the sound of a sniffle. It was almost inaudible, but it made his body turn towards the direction he thought it came from. Had it all been in his head? He kicked a pot out of his way as he walked, and within the clanking sound was a quick and wavering gasp.

Sandor knew where it came from this time. A tarp used for their storage of pots and eating utensils was dismantled on the grass nearby and he rushed to it, pulling it up hastily. Lying underneath it and cradling her belly protectively was Celeste. She yelped at the sudden burst of sunlight on her and curled up as she squeezed her eyes shut in fear. Sandor was in utter disbelief as he stared down at his pregnant wife, and his hesitance gave her the confidence to open her eyes and see that the man kneeling before her was in fact her husband.

Sandor scooped her in his arms and brought her close, his body shaking violently with a sob. Celeste cried into his shoulder, her hands tugging at his shirt and holding onto him tightly. She managed to speak through her hiccups, "They killed them all—you were right—"

"Shut the fuck up," he groaned. The relief pumping through his system was intoxicating, and feeling his muscles relax almost felt foreign to him. Celeste was safe and unharmed, and he couldn't ask any more from the world.

"The baby?" he parted from her only slightly to touch her belly gently.

Celeste sniffled, "I felt a kick not too long ago—poor thing doesn't have a clue."

"How did they not see you?" he stroked her hair. "How the fuck didn't they see you, Celeste?"

"Septon Ray and I were talking about the baby and the future and then—" her breath hitched. "Those men from the Brotherhood came. Septon Ray cut the rope and the tarp fell on me. I didn't move, and I heard him trying to reason with the Brotherhood, but they beat him and then dragged him off; I heard them killing everyone and raping the girls..."

Sandor brought her as close as he could to his chest while his hand caressed her belly. He smiled through his grief at feeling his child nudge his palm, innocent of what was occurring outside its mother's womb.

They sat there for a few more minutes until their nerves calmed somewhat. Celeste's initial fear was fading away only to be replaced with guilt and grief. She clung to Sandor's arm as they studied the aftermath, the pungent smell of blood making her nauseous. It was hard not to start crying again, but Celeste steeled herself, even when she saw all her friends lying dead with arrows in their backs and their shirts torn open. She was especially devastated when she saw what those Brotherhood men did to Septon Ray: they put a noose around his neck and hanged him from the unfinished sept.

Sandor silently got a ladder and brought the septon down, laying him gently on the ground. He looked down at him as he spoke, "I can't believe the bastard proved me wrong; I told him he wouldn't protect anyone by not fighting."

"He sacrificed himself for me and our child," Celeste rubbed her belly and felt tears stinging her eyes. "He told me I carried the next generation that would bring peace to Westeros."

"_Peace_," Sandor spat bitterly. He turned around and pulled out an axe buried in a block of wood. "There'll be no fucking peace after I'm done with them."

"Sandor, please—"

"I thought you were fucking dead!"

He yelled at the top of his lungs, but oddly enough, it didn't frighten her. The anguish in his voice was telling, and she knew he was at war within himself for feeling so much guilt and grief and relief all at once; emotions that on their own were strong, but when felt together were overwhelming. Celeste felt exactly the same way, and it pained her to see that content spark that was starting to shine in her husband's eyes extinguish like a candle on a windy night. She couldn't fathom how devastated he would've been if he found her dead—she bit back a sob at the mere thought of her death meaning the death of the life she still carried. The thought of her dead unborn child pained her more than the thought of losing her own life.

Celeste put together a satchel with the food the Brotherhood didn't take with them and then followed Sandor through the field and into the forest. She noted he slowed his pace for her, but she knew he was seething with rage.

"There they are," he grumbled, seeing a campfire in the distance. He looked over his shoulder, "Stay here, woman."

Celeste watched her husband cut down four men in seconds.

"You're shit at dying, you know that?" he scoffed at the bald man before delivering the finishing blow over his head. Celeste gagged and vomited onto the protruding roots of the tree she held onto for balance. Sandor rushed to her side, rubbing her back as she coughed and wiped her lips with her sleeve.

"The baby's fine," she felt the need to say when she saw how worried he looked. "The smell of blood is sickening me."

They kept walking along the trail. They'd stop ever so often to allow Celeste a breather before continuing. During one of these stops, the silence provided them with the sound of distant voices. They followed the voices and to their shock, they happened upon the Brotherhood as they prepared to hang three men. One of them was the man in the yellow cloak Sandor was desperately after. Sandor pushed her behind him and gripped his axe readily as they all turned to look at him.

"Clegane," Thoros called out, amusement in his voice. "The fuck you doing here?"

"Chasing them," he replied. "You?"

"Hanging them."

"Any particular reason?"

Beric answered this time. "They're our men—or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Why do you want them?"

"Same reason; I was helping build it," he replied. "They killed friends of mine, and they could've killed my wife."

"Ah yes, Lady Celeste," Beric cocked his head to meet her eyes from behind Sandor. When she walked out into their view, Beric's uncovered eye widened, "Are you with child, my lady?"

"Yes, I am."

"Whose?" Thoros teased with a smirk.

"Mine, you fucking cunt!" Sandor took the bait. "And these three fucks are mine too!"

Beric stood in Sandor's way. "It's the Brotherhood's good name they've dragged through the—"

"Fuck your name, they're mine!" he spat. "I killed you once, Dondarrion. I'll be happy to do it again."

Beric rolled his eyes and made him an offering, "You can have one of them."

"Two," Sandor bartered after a moment of silence. Beric and Thoros agreed to his terms with a curt nod. However, they didn't take into account that Sandor wanted to slaughter the doomed men. Thoros stopped Sandor from delivering a devastating blow with his axe, "We're not butchers—we hang them."

"Hanging? All over in an instant! Where's the punishment in that?"

"They die."

"We all bloody die—except this one here," Sandor nodded towards Beric before gripping his axe tightly. "Let me gut one of them."

"Sandor, please," Celeste felt the need to intervene. "If I see more blood, I'll vomit again."

"Listen to your lady," Beric said. "We're already giving you two of the three out of respect for your loss—that's generous."

"Bunch of nancies," he scoffed. "There was a time I'd kill all seven of you just to gut these three."

"Fatherhood's made you soft, Clegane," Beric joked.

"Or perhaps you're getting old," Thoros chimed in.

"He's not," Sandor kicked the stump from underneath one of the men, letting him asphyxiate. The man in the yellow cloak begged for his life, but Sandor kicked the stump from underneath him with pleasure. Beric finished off the last one.

As all three men struggled for their last breaths, Celeste watched Sandor nonchalantly pull the yellow cloak off with a single tug before approaching her and draping it over her shoulders. He didn't say a word as he turned back towards the same man and began stripping him of his boots.

Beric's voice snapped her out of her daze, "When should we be expecting the Clegane pup, Lady Celeste?"

"Shouldn't be too long now," she looked up in thought.

"I never thought I'd see the Hound happily married with a child on the way," Thoros grinned. "He doesn't seem like the family man."

"He's certainly not," she cocked her head to see her husband pulling off his boots to put on the ones he looted off the now unmoving hanged man. "But I assure you, he's very pleased by the notion."

"Join us for supper," Beric offered, turning to Sandor as he approached them. "Lady Celeste is eating for two, and I suppose you'd want something to fill your stomach, Clegane."


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and continued support! Enjoy!**

* * *

"You should eat," Sandor insisted, holding up a pork rib to his wife. He was worried for her; she was silent, her body was stiff, and she stared emotionlessly at nothing. He knew her near-death experience was still haunting her, and the grief and guilt of knowing she heard all her friends being killed and couldn't do anything about it wasn't helping in the slightest. Sandor was used to things going to shit for him, and while it pained him to see Ray hanging from the sept and all those innocent people dead, he's thankful for her and the baby's safety. Still, he knew Celeste was much more sentimental, and being with child has made her more emotional than she normally is.

"I need to relieve myself," she whispered modestly. Sandor offered her his hand to support herself as she stood from her seat on the log near the fire. She excused herself from Beric and Thoros sitting across from them and started to make her way into the forest where the bushes were dense. As she walked, Sandor turned his head towards some Brotherhood men standing nearby.

"If any of you even_ look_ in that direction, your heads will be floating in the fucking river."

The men didn't waste a second to scurry far away from where Celeste was headed, and Sandor was happy to see her grin at the sight. He watched her disappear behind the thick underbrush before finishing the last of the pork ribs.

"You didn't seem so close the first time we met," Thoros pointed out, leaning over to hand Sandor a canteen of water.

"The Lord of Light tell you that?" Sandor took the canteen and uncorked it.

"Just observing," he chuckled. "You look good together."

Celeste returned at the moment and Sandor lent her his hand for balance as she sat down at his side. When she was comfortable, Beric spoke, "You two should join us, seeing as you have nowhere else to go."

"It's your fault we're in our predicament—you couldn't control your men," Celeste snapped. Sandor smirked in amusement when he saw the look of shame on their faces. He was starting to love this feistiness of hers.

"We offer you are deepest condolences, my lady," Beric nodded. "We do not condone their actions, and they were put to death because of it."

Celeste shrugged softly and said nothing more. Thoros began, "Things happen for a reason, and we're all sitting here for a reason. The Lord of Light is keeping Beric alive for a reason, and He gave a failed drunk priest the power to bring him back for a reason. We are part of something larger than ourselves."

"Lots of horrible shit in this world gets done for something larger than ourselves," Sandor scoffed. He handed the canteen to Celeste, stood up, and walked to the edge of the river next to their campsite. He was pissing into the water when Beric spoke, "Cold winds are rising in the north."

"And you're going to go stop them?" Sandor asked sardonically.

"We need good men to help us."

"Last time you saw me you wanted to execute me."

"True enough, but the Lord of Light gave you the power to defeat me. Why?"

"Because he's bigger and better than you," Celeste chimed in.

Sandor smirked proudly as he fixed himself in his trousers. Beric seemed to have taken it in good humor and chuckled, "You're probably right."

When Sandor returned to sit at her side, Beric continued, "Good and bad, young and old—the things we're fighting will destroy them all alike. You have a child on the way; do you want it to be brought into a desolate world?"

Sandor eyed Celeste, who put her hand on her belly out of habit. He hated to admit it, but Beric was right. He needed to start thinking about the future of his child.

"What exactly are we fucking up against?" Sandor asked.

"We're not sure," Thoros said. "The Lord gives me fragments of visions; He doesn't let me see the full image."

"How convenient," Celeste scoffed.

"We're traveling north for the answer," Beric added. "You can still help a lot more than you've harmed, Clegane, it's not too late for you."

Sandor recalled Septon Ray's words to him. _It's never too late to come back._

Seeing as they had no other place to go, Sandor and Celeste silently agreed to tag along with the Brotherhood. They gave them horses, and they began their journey to the north in the hopes of stopping whatever it was that was threatening the livelihood of Westeros.

* * *

Celeste was annoyed at the Brotherhood for the tragedy that occurred to their peaceful village, despite their continued apologies. Nevertheless, as the days went by, her grief subsided, and she came to realize that Beric and Thoros truly had no idea what those rogue men were capable of and sought justice by hanging them. She began to enjoy their company and their laid-back attitudes, especially their humorous banter with Sandor. Her usual demeanor began to return, and she knew Sandor was relieved. He was worried for her, and it made her happy to see his eyes sparkle when she'd smile at him or when she began eating regularly again.

One night as they sat by the roaring fire eating dinner, Celeste let out a hiss. Sandor was quick to react, "What is it?"

"Your child kicked me in the ribs," she whimpered in discomfort. The baby was fussy and nudged her palm as she rubbed her belly.

"Have you thought of any names?" Beric asked. "I hear Joffrey is a popular name nowadays."

"Well, we do owe the little shit for forcing us to marry," Sandor shrugged. "We wouldn't have otherwise."

Celeste laughed. "So you want to name our son Joffrey?"

"We don't owe him _that_ fucking much."

"Four hours," Thoros suddenly spoke. They all whipped their heads towards the priest staring intently into the crackling fire between them. He kept his eyes locked on the dancing flames for another brief second before looking up to meet Celeste's glance. "You will give birth in four hours."

"Tonight?" Sandor raised his voice so suddenly, the horses tied to a nearby tree stomped their hooves in fright. Celeste felt her skin crawl at the mere thought and rubbed her belly. Surely, she would've felt something to indicate it was time? Is that why the baby was fussy?

"No," Thoros clarified with a smile. "The birth will _last_ four hours."

"Fuck off!" Sandor hurled a canteen at Thoros. The priest chuckled even as he blocked it with his arms and water splashed over his head. Beric let out a hefty laugh and Celeste couldn't help but do the same. Sandor was fuming, and it only aggravated him further to have them all laughing at his expense.

"Calm down, Sandor," Celeste touched his arm affectionately, her laughter subsiding somewhat. "I'm sure I'll know when our baby wants to come out."

"You will," Thoros nodded. The glare Sandor sent his way would've killed him if looks had the ability to do so.

"Fuck off with the fortune telling, you twat!"


	26. Chapter 26

As they traveled farther north, the air grew colder and windier, and for the first time in her life, Celeste saw snow. It felt like shredded ice against her fingertips, and when it fell from the sky, it amazed her to see the intricate shapes and designs of the snowflakes.

With the decreasing temperatures, she's become the most prized person throughout their travels. She's made the entire Brotherhood coats and gloves from any extra fabric they had or from skinning wild animals they hunted for supper. Celeste knew Sandor was gloating from how much the Brotherhood was depending on her, but it also annoyed him that she was being put to work so much.

"It keeps me occupied, Sandor," Celeste smiled as she curled up underneath four blankets. The freezing nights called for tents to protect them from the winds and the falling snow. Sandor and Celeste shared one, and Celeste was grateful to Beric and Thoros for giving her each an extra blanket.

"I don't want you bloody working," Sandor breathed hotly on the palm of his hand before pressing it on the skin of her belly. She appreciated his gesture to warm his hand before touching her, but it was still deathly cold, and she tried her hardest not to jump from the chill. Thankfully, he didn't notice due to being so preoccupied with his fussy child kicking up against his palm.

"I told you not to worry; I'm fine," she insisted with a smile. "And our baby is fine too; knitting gloves isn't putting him in harm's way."

"_She_," he corrected her.

The one thing Celeste hated about this winter wasn't the cold itself, but how dreary and dark it looked outside despite it being midday. It was similar to a rainy day with its grey skies and dark clouds, only snow and sleet floated down rather than raindrops. It was a particularly bad-tempered day and Celeste predicted there was a blizzard rumbling behind the dark clouds in the distance. The wind was hitting her face like razor-sharp pins and her hands were stiff despite wearing two pairs of gloves. The only thing warming her was every time Sandor would look back and meet her eyes, checking on her from time to time as they rode on their horses down the trail.

"It's a bad night to be outdoors," Thoros said with an exasperated sigh.

"You've got real powerful magic to figure that out. The Lord of Light whisper that in your ear?" Sandor scoffed and continued in a mocking voice. "It's snowing, Thoros! It's windy! It's going to be a cold night!"

"He's a grouchy old bear, isn't he, Lady Celeste?" Thoros looked back at her with a smile. "How do you manage?"

"It's a secret only wives know," she responded jokingly.

"Must be some powerful magic, don't you think, Clegane?" Thoros continued to tease an already annoyed Sandor. "You want some rum?"

"I don't like that shit, it's too sweet."

Celeste felt something grip her lower abdomen tightly and she clenched her teeth together to avoid making any noise. She didn't want to worry Sandor; she's felt this before, and it only lasted a few seconds. To her dismay, it gripped her for much longer than that. Thankfully, the pain was just beginning to dissolve when the entire party came to a halt.

"This seems like a good place to spend the night," Beric said.

When Celeste looked up, her stomach dropped. She recognized this farmhouse: it belonged to that farmer and his daughter that took her, Arya, and Sandor in, fed them, and then Sandor robbed them of the little silver they had left. She even recognized the very trail Sandor threatened to rape her despite it being entirely covered in snow.

She knew Sandor recognized it too because he looked back at her and met her eyes in silent shame. He quickly turned to speak, "These people don't want us here."

"Seems deserted to me," Beric pointed out. "No livestock, no smoke coming from the chimney."

Beric urged his horse forward and everyone followed suit. Celeste could tell Sandor was tense from how his shoulders squared underneath his cloak. Despite having put this incident behind her, it still pained her to relive it. She doesn't regret forgiving him for what he did, and he has admitted to his wrongdoing and his remorse for doing so, but she couldn't help but remember how much it stung for him to threaten her with such a vile thing, and for him to beat and rob that defenseless farmer in front of his daughter. Now that she's with child, she couldn't imagine the guilt Sandor carried in him.

When they finally arrived at the farmhouse, Sandor remained adamant. "I don't like the look of it."

"For a big, hard man, you scare easy," Thoros teased. Celeste couldn't help but let a smile escape her: she knew her husband too well to know a flurry of insults were coming straight for the red priest like a barrage of flaming arrows.

"You know what doesn't scare me? Bald cocksuckers like you! You think you're fooling anyone with that top knot?" Sandor scoffed, adding as an afterthought, "Bald cunt."

"Maybe they've got some ale hidden away," Thoros suggested.

"They don't," Sandor dismounted his horse with a huff. He quickly tied his horse onto the wooden fence before approaching Celeste's horse. He gently carried her off the horse, only letting her go when he felt she had both feet on the ground. Celeste looked up at him, only to see him actively avoiding her eyes. He quickly left her side to tie her horse's reins next to his own.

"Sandor," she called out softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "It's alright."

"No, it's fucking not," he grumbled. "Fuck knows why you forgave me, but I don't forgive myself."

Celeste wanted to say something else, but he pressed his large hand against the small of her back to urge her into the house. The moment they stepped through the threshold; however, she felt a lump in her throat. In the corner of the room were the bloodied skeletons of a man and a little girl on his lap.

"How do you think it ended for them?" Beric asked.

"With death," Sandor replied simply.

"Girl died in her father's arms. Both of them covered in blood and a knife at their feet. I'd say they were starving. And rather than letting his little girl suffer, he ended it for both of them," Beric guessed.

"It doesn't matter now," Sandor gestured for Celeste to sit down at the table they once ate a delicious rabbit stew on. She remembers how hungry they were that day, and she wondered how Arya must be doing with her friends in Braavos. Celeste hoped she was safe.

Thoros was beginning to light the fire in the hearth when Celeste managed to wiggle herself into the chair at the table. Sandor pulled out a hunk of bread, breaking it in two and giving Celeste the larger piece. Beric sat in front of them at the table, his sigh forming a mist in front of his face.

"I've known you a long time, Dondarrion," Sandor started.

"Aye, I believe the first time we met was at that tournament—"

"And I always thought you were dull as dirt," Sandor cut him off. Beric and Thoros burst into laughter. It always amused Celeste how the two men always took Sandor's insults in such good spirit. Any other man would've picked a fight with him already. She was grateful that they, like her, appreciate Sandor's grumpy humor.

"You're not bad. I don't hate you," Sandor added, eating the last of the bread. "Don't like you, but you're not bad."

"Thank you, Clegane," Beric chuckled. "That warms the heart."

Thoros managed to start the fire in the hearth and as it warmed the small house, Sandor questioned why Beric continued to be brought back from the dead when there's nothing remotely special about him. Better men have been hanged and beheaded for no reason and yet, he was still here. Beric wondered the same thing, but the Lord of Light hasn't provided him with a clear answer.

"I don't know what He wants from me. I only know that He wants me alive," Beric told him.

Sandor wasn't convinced and just scoffed at the annoyingly vague answer, "If he's so all-powerful, why doesn't he just tell you what the fuck he wants?"

Beric was rendered speechless, and Celeste figured he had no answer.

"Clegane, come over here," Thoros suddenly called out from where he knelt by the fire. When Sandor hesitated, he added, "Don't worry, the fire won't bite—I want to show you something."

Sandor let out an exasperated sigh, "It's my fucking luck I end up with a bunch of fire worshippers."

Celeste let out a soft giggle. Beric followed suit and spoke, "Aye, almost seems like divine justice."

"There is no divine justice, you dumb cunt," Sandor stood from the table. "If there was, you'd be dead, and that girl would be alive."

Celeste watched Sandor stand a safe distance from the flames and after a brief banter with Thoros, the red priest managed to convince Sandor to stand by the hearth and look into the flames.

"What do you see?" Thoros asked.

"Logs burning," Sandor spat.

Celeste rubbed her belly with a soft smile, feeling the tiny life in her wiggling inside almost as if getting comfortable. She loved to feel her baby move and kick her, even if it did hurt sometimes.

"Ice. A wall of ice. The Wall."

Celeste frowned and turned her head towards Sandor and Thoros standing by the flames. She momentarily caught Beric's glance, silently asking if he indeed heard Sandor say something as ridiculous as that while looking into a hearth.

"What else?" Thoros urged him.

"It's where the Wall meets the sea. There's a castle there," Sandor continued. The flames burst and crackled as he finished his sentence, and Celeste was utterly shocked. Sandor wouldn't speak such things if he wasn't truly seeing them in the flames. "There's a mountain. It looks like an arrowhead. The dead are marching past. Thousands of them."

Beric stood from the table to approach the hearth, and Celeste followed his lead, terrified of what her husband was saying. The Long Night was indeed coming for all of Westeros.

"Do you believe me now, Clegane?" Beric asked him firmly. "Do you believe we're here for a reason?"

Sandor didn't answer Beric's question and continued to stare into the flames. Celeste assumed he made a strange face because Thoros looked up at him with a frown, "What else do you see?"

"Who the fuck is Eloise?"

The moment those words left Sandor's mouth, Celeste felt the most excruciating pain grip her lower abdomen and it made her cry out. It nearly left her breathless, and she would've lost her balance if it wasn't for Sandor supporting her with his arm.

"What's wrong?" Sandor asked hysterically. "Woman!"

"It's just—" Celeste tried to speak, but the pain squeezing her insides like a vice was leaving her dizzy and crying out again. This time, what sounded like a bucket of water sloshing onto the wooden floors echoed in the room and Celeste was mortified to realize it'd come from her.

"The Clegane pup wants to come out!" Beric exclaimed happily.

"_Now?_" Sandor barked.

"I'll deliver the child," Thoros stepped forward. Sandor looked less than pleased, his mind spinning in all directions at seeing his wife bending over in pain.

"The Lord of Light a fucking midwife now?" he growled.

"I've been present at countless births, praying to the Lord for the safe delivery of the child," Thoros explained. "I've seen what the women do, and the Lord of Light will guide me."

Celeste clenched her teeth as another wave of pain gripped her. Sandor reached out and grabbed Thoros by the collar, pulling him up to the point where he was standing on his tip-toes. "Listen here, you balding cunt—"

"Sandor, please," Celeste pleaded with him, holding her belly as she tried to take even breaths. Sandor glared down at Thoros for a brief second before letting him go.

"Now, I need her somewhere comfortable, get that pot and fill it with snow to boil over the fire," Thoros instructed. "And then I need everyone out of the house."

"What—" Sandor began but Thoros cut him off.

"It's bad luck to have men in the room, especially the father of the child."

"And what are you? A fucking eunuch?"

"I'm a priest and delivering your child—I don't fall under that category," he nodded. "Everyone out!"


	27. Chapter 27

Sandor felt like he was going to lose his mind.

He cringed when he heard yet another blood curdling scream from inside the house. He wished her pain would be his—he hated hearing her scream in such agony. He couldn't sit still and paced the barn back and forth. The Brotherhood men stayed out of his path; he was ready to strangle anyone that so much as looked at him for too long. They were all sitting outside with Sandor and Beric, and while the barn shielded them from the wind and snow, it was still bitter cold. Sandor felt none of it, however. His blood was running hot.

"Rum?" Beric offered. Normally, Sandor would reject it—he hated that sweet shit—but right now, he didn't care. He snatched it from him and drank three big gulps. He'd lost track of the time; it seemed like his wife had been giving birth to their child for a lifetime. Another scream erupted from inside, and it made Sandor groan and drink again.

"I never took you for a superstitious man, Clegane," Beric smiled. "You're many things, but certainly not superstitious."

"Don't make me kill you again, Dondarrion."

"It's unlike you to follow Thoros' orders; in fact, I'm shocked you haven't barged in there just to spite him."

Sandor clenched his fists at hearing his wife scream again. Beric's uncovered eye widened in realization, "You're afraid she won't make it."

If being in that room with her was going to invoke a godly wrath, whether it be from the Lord or from the Seven or from whichever other god was the true god, Sandor was going to have no part in it. There were moments between his pacing the barn that he'd chastise himself for thinking such stupid shite—there's no such thing as luck, or curses, or magic. But after what he saw in the flames, there's a voice in his head telling him it could all be real, and his presence inside that farmhouse could trigger a spell of misfortune. His child could be born dead, or his wife could bleed to death, or both could die. Sandor was worrying himself sick, and the rum he'd just chugged down was giving him a headache.

"Have some faith for once, Clegane," Beric said, and Sandor shoved the canteen of rum into his chest in response.

His wife screamed in agony again, but this time, it was followed by angry words, "Shut up about the fucking Lord, Thoros!"

The entire Brotherhood let out a simultaneous snort, and Sandor found himself smiling in amusement despite his anxiety. Beric also chuckled softly, "Well, I certainly see why fate brought you two together."

The lighthearted moment withered away almost immediately when another scream came from inside, and Sandor's grin was slapped off his face. He felt like his head was going to burst and it was taking all his willpower not to strike one of the barn's wooden pillars with his fists.

"She'll be fine, Clegane. They'll both be fine," Beric tried to reassure him again. When Sandor opened his mouth to respond, Beric added, "_I'm_ telling you that, not the Lord."

"What the fuck do you know about dying?" Sandor scoffed. "You come back every single time."

A moment of silence went by before the crying of a newborn came from inside the house. Sandor froze, almost doubting the cries he was hearing over the whistle of the wind. Beric's chuckle snapped Sandor out of his disbelief, "Four hours—right on time."

Sandor wasn't able to get very far, however. The moment he stepped towards the farmhouse, Beric's hand shot forward and grabbed his arm to hold him back. "Let Thoros come out."

Sandor wanted to shout in frustration and knock Beric's teeth out of his mouth, but the wails of his child just beyond the walls of the farmhouse made butterflies flutter in his stomach and his heart race. It all eventually went silent with only the harsh wind blowing. Sandor felt it'd been another lifetime before Thoros finally poked his head into the barn, a bright smile on his face.

"Congrat—"

Thoros nearly fell into the snow from how roughly Sandor pushed him aside. When he entered the warm farmhouse and went into the small bedroom, he saw his wife sitting on the bed, her hair tied up with a ribbon, and her cheeks flushed. Cradled in her arms was a bundle of blankets with a round pink face and a head full of hair poking out from it. She looked up at him and smiled weakly, exhausted from the labor but pushing through it nonetheless.

He was nervous as he approached her, sitting at the bedside and eyeing the life they created in her arms. The child was quiet but was frowning in a way that made Sandor chuckle; it almost looked like him when he was annoyed. He met Celeste's eyes and seeing her smile made a warmth settle in his chest like nothing he'd ever felt before.

"I was right, wasn't I?"

Celeste nodded with a gentle laugh. "Do you want to hold her?"

Sandor was more than careful and was downright terrified of hurting the baby unintentionally. He held the bundle in his hands, astonished by how small she was and the amount of dark hair on her pink head. She opened her eyes momentarily, seemingly studying his face and, to Sandor's relief, she merely closed them again and didn't make a peep. He didn't frighten her.

They were so preoccupied with their newborn daughter, they hadn't realized the entire Brotherhood had made their way into the room. Thieves and outlaws melting at the sight of a cooing baby—it was a sight to see.

"Amidst war and ruin, there is never a more beautiful sight than the birth of a child," Beric smiled. "Congratulations, both of you."

The baby girl made a soft noise, her plump fists opening and closing as if trying to reach for something. Sandor offered her his finger and when his daughter's tiny hand curled around it, his stomach burst with flutters.

"What will you name her?" Beric asked. "Clearly _Joffrey_ is off the table."

"I liked that name you mentioned," Celeste recalled. "Eloise."

"Really?" Sandor scoffed. "I don't even know what the fuck I was saying."

"Eloise Clegane, may the Lord protect the men that cross you, for they will surely have their cocks chopped off," Thoros joked, though it didn't feel like a complete lie.

Sandor glared at the Brotherhood gathered around them. "That's a fucking warning to all of you."

"Can we please refrain from cursing in front of my daughter?" Celeste sighed in exasperation. "I don't want her first words being fuck and cock."

"I think that's inevitable, my lady," Beric chuckled before turning to the Brotherhood. "Alright, we've all seen the child; now everyone out."

Alone in the small bedroom with his little family, Sandor felt so giddy, he was surprisingly in the mood to tease his wife. "Did it hurt?"

"To all seven hells!" Celeste whimpered. "But I'll do it all again gladly."

"You want to have another?"

"Gods no, not right now," Celeste slumped back on the wooden headboard. "That was exhausting."

Sandor chuckled and looked down at Eloise. Her eyes were open and looking around the candlelit room, taking in her new surroundings. He reached up and brushed the strands of her hair from her forehead and then touched her cheek, amazed by how smooth her skin was. To his dismay, her face contorted, and hiccupped cries erupted from her.

"It wasn't you, Sandor," Celeste assured him as she reached for the bundle. "She's hungry—she's her father's daughter after all."

He watched Celeste hold the tiny baby in front of her before slipping an arm out of her blouse to expose her breast. Eloise latched on as soon as she was close enough to do so and began drinking her mother's milk hungrily. It was difficult to describe the feeling in his chest as he watched his wife breastfeeding his little baby girl as if she's done this all her life. He assumed women were born with a maternal instinct that lets them care for their children so flawlessly.

"What's wrong?" Celeste asked him.

"What the fuck do we do now?"

"We raise her and watch her grow," Celeste reached out and touched his cheek. Her touch normally made him forget about his problems, but he couldn't seem to shake them off at the moment. "What's going through your head?"

"You obviously know what the fuck you're doing," he shrugged.

"No, I don't; trust me," she laughed softly. "Don't let this fool you."

Sandor frowned in thought. It scared him to think his wife has gotten so proficient at knowing what he was thinking. She brushed the long strands of hair that fell over his burn scars. "She'll love you, Sandor."

When he scoffed, Celeste continued, "I know you'll be a good father."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Sandor scowled. "I don't know where you get all this bloody confidence in me. I killed that farmer and his daughter in the other room, and now my own daughter's born here. It's my fucking luck—"

"Stop it," Celeste snapped. "I know the guilt you carry is enormous, but you can't let it eat you away, especially when you've worked so hard to redeem yourself. I need you, and so does Eloise."

Sandor nodded slowly, watching his daughter cooing after she pulled away from Celeste's chest. The newborn yawned, making Celeste smile. "What a good life she lives: she's been fed, and now she wants to sleep."

He chuckled at the sight and leaned in to tickle is wife's forehead with his beard. "You should get some sleep."

"I surely need it," she joked. When Sandor stood and moved to duck under the doorframe of the bedroom, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"I have something to do," he told her.

Celeste had fallen asleep the moment she laid down next to her bundled up newborn, unbeknownst to her that her husband was outside in the blizzard digging a grave for the farmer and his daughter. He hadn't been able to dig graves for Septon Ray and the villagers; the grief and rage he felt blinded him and only allowed him to see through a tunnel that ended with him violently murdering the men responsible. Tonight; however, Sandor was buzzing with the feeling of his daughter's birth and with a clear head, he dug the graves with some help from Thoros.

"We ask the Father to judge us with mercy; we ask the Mother to judge us with…" Sandor attempted the prayer, earning him a confused look from Thoros. Sandor scoffed in annoyance. "Fuck it, I don't remember the rest."

Sandor stood above the grave, his guilt biting at him viciously, but Celeste's words still rang in his ears. He couldn't let this destroy him, and as much as his actions back then pain him, he must move forward.

"I'm sorry you're dead," he said. "You deserved better; both of you."

He tossed the shovel aside and made his way back into the farmhouse, entering the small bedroom where his wife and child slept soundly. After making sure they were both warm in their blankets, he quietly dragged a chair near the bed to sit in, crossed his arms over his chest, and fell asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the support and kind words! Enjoy!**

* * *

They stayed in the farmhouse for almost a fortnight while Celeste recovered from childbirth. The Brotherhood took the time to go hunting and gather supplies for their long trip to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and Celeste kept herself busy by caring for her newborn daughter and knitting warm blankets and clothes for her. It amused her to see Sandor wanting to help her, but not really being able to do much. What he mostly did was carry Eloise so Celeste could sew or cook. It always made her smile to see a brutish looking man like Sandor carrying a tiny newborn against his chest and looking so utterly terrified.

"I don't want to hold her tight and hurt her," Sandor told her as he carried a sleeping Eloise. If he wanted to, he could carry Eloise in one hand from how enormous they were.

"If you're hurting her, she'll let you know," Celeste laughed softly.

Beric found a large wicker basket in the farmhouse and after Celeste stuffed it with blankets, it became a perfect makeshift crib for Eloise. Celeste couldn't describe the feeling whenever she'd see her husband check on the newborn almost excessively while she slept soundly in the basket. He eyed her, and then he'd adjust her blankets after a few minutes, and then he'd look over her again, and then tuck in the edges of the blanket into the basket. With any coo or subtle noise she'd make, his head would quickly swing in her direction to see if something was wrong.

"She's fine, Sandor," Celeste said as she had a spoonful of stew. "Eat your supper before it gets cold."

"Thank the Lord the girl doesn't snore like her father," Thoros teased from his end of the table.

"You're one to talk," Beric chuckled. "You and Clegane compete for the loudest snore every night."

* * *

The day they decided to leave the farmhouse was surprisingly sunny, but it didn't make it any warmer. Celeste bundled Eloise up well and, using a long blanket to wrap around her torso, she was able to carry Eloise against her chest hands-free. The gentle motion of the horse swaying them as it walked through the countryside soothed the newborn and either rocked her to sleep or made her incredibly drowsy. Celeste found it amusing whenever she saw her daughter blinking slowly, obviously heavy with sleep.

Some nights, Eloise was incredibly fussy. Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps she didn't have a particular reason for crying, but she became insufferable. Celeste would console her momentarily by breastfeeding her, but as soon as she would pat her back to burp her, she'd start to cry. Celeste didn't know what to do; their tent was warm, Eloise was fed, she's been sleeping sufficiently, and she wasn't running a fever or showing signs of illness. It was the middle of the night, and she knew the Brotherhood men in the neighboring tents were just as irritated by Eloise's crying as Celeste was.

"What's wrong with her?" Sandor asked.

"I don't know!" Celeste was at the brink of tears.

"Give her here," Sandor took the wailing newborn from his wife. He put Eloise against his chest and began rocking her gently. Eloise kept crying incessantly but after a few minutes, her wails became whimpers, and eventually became coos. She wasn't asleep, but at least she wasn't making their ears burst with high-pitched cries.

"Well, aren't you proud of yourself?" Celeste teased. Her voice was groggy with sleep as she lay on the bedding next to Sandor.

"I did something you couldn't," he chuckled softly. He rested back on the bedding, keeping Eloise against his chest. Her eyes were wide open, but at least she was calm and cooing. Sandor smiled at hearing Celeste's heavy breathing at his side; the poor woman was exhausted from taking care of a newborn and making sure the entire Brotherhood was fed and clothed. Sandor doesn't know how she does it all and makes it look so damn easy.

* * *

The biggest joy for the new parents came when Eloise began to grace them with her first smiles. They were no longer those smiles brought on by hunger or yawning or gas. They were genuine smiles and Sandor loved to watch his wife speak nonsense to her in a funny voice and the baby girl would grin from ear to ear and kick her legs in excitement. Sandor was a bit jealous; she had yet to give him a smile. She would just stare at him in curiosity and oftentimes pulled at his hair.

"I think she has your blue eyes," Beric noted. Celeste looked up from the pot of stew she was stirring over the fire. Beric was doing her the favor of holding Eloise while she prepared the evening's supper. The child seemed content in Beric's arms; she didn't mind being carried by others.

"Sandor would be happy to hear that," Celeste joked. "He wants Eloise to look like me."

"I wouldn't blame him," Thoros chuckled. "He's one ugly looking bastard."

"Fuck off, Thoros," Sandor emerged from behind a tree. He eyed Beric with his daughter and frowned. "And what the fuck are you doing carrying my daughter?"

"She's with Uncle Beric while I cook dinner," Celeste teased. She knew Sandor would get annoyed at such a concept.

"I leave to take a piss, and suddenly Dondarrion becomes _Uncle Beric_?"

When Eloise was passed on into Sandor's arms, Thoros chimed in from where he sat near the fire, his canteen of rum swaying in his hand as he held it up. "I want to be Uncle Thoros the Great!"

"A great big cunt is what you are!" Sandor barked.

Oddly enough, Celeste wasn't surprised to see Eloise had smiled at her father's vulgarity. Beric also noticed the baby's toothless grin and pointed it out with a laugh. "She's smiling, Clegane."

"Is she?" Sandor held her out in front of him. Eloise chewed at her fist as he spoke to her, "You think Thoros is a great big cunt, too?"

She gurgled through a smile, a dimple forming in her left cheek as she did so. Sandor held her up towards Celeste. "She's fucking smiling, woman!"

"Yes, I saw," Celeste laughed.

* * *

Celeste smiled at Eloise's gurgles and coos as she changed her clothes for the night. Beric was right when he said she'd inherited Celeste's eyes: they were round and a crystalline blue that contrasted so beautifully against her smooth milky skin and full head of dark curls. Celeste was thrilled her daughter was born with enough hair to decorate with ribbons and bows, and thankfully, Eloise didn't tug them off.

Sandor entered the tent and Celeste shivered from the cold he let in when he did so. The moment he came into view, Eloise lit up with a grin as wide as Essos and began kicking her socked feet quickly.

"You get so excited when you see papa, don't you?" Celeste patted Eloise's belly. The baby babbled in response and kept kicking, attempting to get her father's attention the only way she knew how, and it worked like a charm.

"Never thought I'd see the day a child would be excited to see me," Sandor chuckled and picked her up. He nuzzled his chin into her cheek, his beard making her babble happily and show off that dimple in her left cheek. Getting so close; however, always gave Eloise the opportunity to grab onto his hair and tug at it like no tomorrow. Sandor hissed. "You always go for the hair, don't you?"

"She has a strong grip," Celeste smiled. "I wonder where she could've gotten that from."

"You think she'll be as tall as me?" Sandor asked, wincing when she gave his hair another tug and smiled about it.

"It's a possibility," Celeste looked up in thought. "Brienne of Tarth is almost as tall as you, so it's not far-fetched to think a woman can grow that tall."

"She doesn't look very big now," Sandor pointed out as he bounced Eloise up and down. Eloise gurgled and chewed on her fist glistening with drool. "My brother grew bigger than me, but I remember my mother telling me I was born heavier and that I had more hair than him."

"Now we know where all this comes from," Celeste smoothed down Eloise's curls as she held onto her father's nose with one hand and touched his burned cheek in the other. "I'm sure you were a very handsome baby, Sandor."

"I fucking hope so," he joked. He placed Eloise into the wicker basket and wrapped her securely in the blankets. The telltale sign of drowsiness was always her slow blinking, and Sandor found so much joy in seeing it.

When he turned his head to look at his wife, she was untangling her hair with his fingers. As she started braiding it over her shoulder, she met his eyes. He must've looked like a hungry dog, or perhaps it was just her newfound ability to read his mind like a witch, but it took her only a second to realize what was going through his head.

"I don't know, Sandor," she mumbled, looking away from his glance.

"You've stopped bleeding already, haven't you?"

"Yes but…" she sighed. "I don't feel like myself; my body doesn't look like it used to."

"Looks the same to me," he shrugged. When she glared at him in disbelief, he quickly added, "I'll fuck you regardless, woman—if you want, I won't look at you while we fuck. I'll close my eyes."

His brutal honesty made her laugh. "You have such a way with words; you should be a poet."

"I'd be the biggest cunt in Westeros if I said you looked hideous after carrying my child when I look like _this_," he pointed at his face. "It takes a special kind of woman to willingly want to fuck someone like me and enjoy it."

"I_ am_ one of a kind, aren't I?" Celeste joked with a giggle.

Sandor chuckled at her humor and scooted close to her, caging her between his massive legs. He reached for her, touching her flushed cheek and then smoothing down the loose hairs she didn't catch in her braid, "I'll fuck you any which way, woman; I don't give two shits what you look like."

Celeste felt fuzzy inside, and the way Sandor was looking at her made her want to melt. When their lips met, she was sure sparks flew and it wasn't long before a roaring flame ignited between them. Celeste began working on his top layer of clothing when Eloise began to hiccup with a cry.

"For fuck's sake!" Sandor growled. Celeste bit her lip to hold back a laugh, watching her husband crawl to his daughter's basket and pick her up to soothe her.

"Don't you dare fall asleep, woman!" Sandor warned when Celeste laid down on her side.

"I won't," she grinned.

Sandor looked absolutely desperate as he rocked Eloise. He managed to reduce her cries to coos but would grow increasingly frustrated whenever he'd look down and see Eloise's eyes wide open like two full blue moons.

"Fall asleep already, you little hairball," he grumbled. "I want to fuck your mum."

"Sandor!" Celeste scolded through a laugh.

"She doesn't understand me."

Eventually, Eloise did fall asleep, and as soon as Sandor carefully placed her in her wicker basket, he pounced on his wife with little hesitation. Their flame was so intense, they didn't even bother with their clothes; they only removed the bits that were necessary. They'd almost forgotten what it felt like to hold each other like this, but it all came back to them quickly like an old habit. Sandor felt so indebted to Celeste, giving him her unconditional love and a beautiful baby girl, and he showed her his gratitude as he made love to her slowly, kissed her tenderly, and held her protectively in his arms. He kept her warm against his chest.

"I love you," she whispered to him. He always felt his stomach flutter when she spoke those three simple words to him, but he could never find the courage in him to return them. He only ever hummed in agreement, and he was so grateful Celeste was content with his simple return of affection. If he openly admitted his love for her, it'd become real, and if it became real, he feared he'd lose her forever.

And he couldn't live with the thought of losing her.


	29. Chapter 29

The further they traveled north, the colder it became. Celeste would track the time they've been traveling based on Eloise's milestones. The baby girl, seemingly unbothered by the constant travel and the cold, had learned to roll over onto her stomach by herself and discovered her feet, chewing on her toes whenever she was left to her own devices. Her small baby teeth had begun to sprout from her gums and would become fussy when their growth hurt her, but she would laugh hysterically when she'd slobber all over her father and earn an annoyed grunt from him. She only became ill with a fever once on their travels, but it seemed to be something that went all around their traveling party as Celeste and a few of the other Brotherhood men went down with fevers and congestion headaches as well. Sandor had been affected along with Thoros, but the two drank their sickness away at an abandoned estate they found along the road that had a wine cellar. Beric proclaimed the Lord of Light protected him from sickness, and it nearly earned him a wine bottle to the head from a drunken Sandor.

"Look at you!" Thoros bounced one of his gloves just out of Eloise's grasp. The infant was laughing and kicking, desperately trying to reach for the glove floating in front of her. "What a happy child! It's hard to believe the Hound sired you!"

"Will you fuck off?" Sandor growled. He had her sitting on his knee, bouncing her to keep her laughing and smiling. He understood the necessity of being near the fire—Eloise was still too small to regulate her own body temperature correctly. Nevertheless, he was always incredibly anxious whenever she was close to the fire and had to mind his own strength when he held her next to it for warmth. Remembering what happened to him and recalling the pain of his burns always made him subconsciously hold Eloise tightly so she wouldn't accidentally slip from his grasp. When the fire would snap suddenly, he'd pull her away quickly as a precaution. He hated this fucking cold.

"Hello, my sweet girl," Celeste smiled at Eloise as she sat next to Sandor. The child immediately babbled and kicked at the sight of her mother, though Sandor knew she was more excited for the bowl in Celeste's hands. Taking a small piece of bread, Celeste soaked it into the venison stew and fed it to Eloise. The infant ate it up in less than a second and stretched her arms out for more.

"Gods, is there anything you _don't_ like?" Celeste sighed in amusement. "She may look like me, but she's certainly your daughter."

Sandor grinned proudly. His little hairball had a good stomach, but he was grateful she was a cheerful child, rarely crying and always babbling and giggling and engaging with everyone around her. He didn't want her to be grumpy like he was; but then again, he's the way he is due to constant shitty experiences. Eloise has barely seen what the world has to offer her, and Sandor hoped she remained bubbly all her life. If he could shield her from all the horrors of the world, he would do so without a second thought.

The horses tied to a nearby tree began to fuss, stomping their hooves against the snow and snorting. The men huddled around the fire turned their heads towards the noise, and even under the crackling of the fire and the fretting horses, the sound of crunching snow was obvious in the darkness.

Sandor quickly handed Eloise to Celeste and drew his sword along with all the Brotherhood. He shielded Celeste and his daughter with his body, looking in all directions as the crunching snow got closer and closer to their campsite.

Wildlings surrounded them, spears and swords in their hands. Celeste held Eloise against her chest protectively, her beating heart pounding against her daughter's ear and making her babble nervously. Sandor's shoulders were squared, and his hand gripped his sword while the other was stretched out behind him to cage Celeste and Eloise from these men.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" one of them asked.

"We only wish to go beyond the Wall," Beric began gently. "We do not wish to fight or cause trouble."

"Turn around and fucking leave!"

"We will do no such thing," Beric insisted. "The Lord has instructed us to go beyond the Wall."

The Wildlings took a step forward and the Brotherhood did the same. Eloise began to cry from the tension in the air, and Celeste tried to bounce her in her arms to soothe her. Hearing her cry made Sandor seethe and if it wasn't for Beric's smooth negotiation with the Wildlings, he would've called them every name in the book and proceeded to fight them all to the death.

"We'll take you to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea," the Wildling nodded but his eyes were narrowed skeptically. "But letting you go beyond the Wall? Fuck off with that!"

They were led through the dark forest. Sandor refused to sheath his sword despite the momentary peace agreement between them all. He didn't let Celeste and Eloise out of his sight or go further than arm's reach from him. He didn't trust these men, and it was only until they heard the crashing of the waves and saw the magnificent castle built atop of the massive and infamous Wall did Sandor calm down. But only slightly.

Celeste had only heard of the Wall from soldiers in King's Landing and read about the Night's Watch and its many castles in history books. However, seeing the Wall in person, towering over her and swallowing her up in its massive shadow took her breath away. She felt insignificant in its grandiosity, and it frightened her to think the undead coming for Westeros could scale that seemingly impenetrable Wall.

They were thrown into a bitter cold cell in the dungeons of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Eloise began to fuss in Celeste's arms, and she tried to soothe her as best she could; she held her against her chest, giving her all the warmth she could. Sandow slipped his cloak off and draped it over Celeste's shoulders and let her have the bench in the cell all to herself.

"This was your fucking idea, Dondarrion!" Sandor began. "If it wasn't for your fucking Lord, we wouldn't be in this fucking cell with a bunch of fucking Wildlings wanting to carve out our livers!"

"The Lord knows what He does," he insisted. "We're here for a reason."

"Aye, He's giving me a reason to break your fucking neck!"

"Sandor, please," Celeste tried to keep her voice steady as she soothed a fussing Eloise. "Your shouting isn't helping."

Sandor fumed as he paced the cell like a caged hound. Eloise had calmed down considerably, clutching onto the tip of her mother's braid and tugging it absentmindedly. Her cheeks were still red with tears, and Celeste knew the slightest thing would make her wail again.

"The fucking Brotherhood?" an accented voice echoed throughout the dungeons. "Never fucking heard of them!"

Eloise began to cry again just like Celeste knew she would. A large man with unruly ginger hair and a matching full beard walked in front of their cell. His clear blue eyes looked frenzied, especially when they widened like dinner plates at the sight of Celeste and the sobbing infant in her arms. He immediately turned to the man that had brought them into the dungeons and grabbed him by the collar of his animal skin coat.

"You put a woman and a child in the dungeons?" he bellowed louder than Eloise's wails. The sound of his bare fist against the man's jaw was sickening and he brought a heavy kick onto his stomach when he lay on the cold ground from the blow. "Keys!"

Another Wildling handed him the cell keys and he hastily opened the door. The ginger man gestured at Celeste with his hand. "Come on out; you don't belong in there, woman."

Celeste's stomach dropped when Sandor grabbed the man's coat the same way he'd done to the poor man still writhing in agony on the ground. "She's not going anywhere without me, and don't fucking call her _woman_."

The redhead surprisingly didn't seem alarmed by Sandor, despite being taller and bigger and threatening him. He merely slapped his hand away. "Is she yours?"

"Aye, she's mine."

The man's eyes narrowed at him skeptically before turning to the Brotherhood standing behind Sandor. He gestured at Celeste with a finger, "Is she?"

When the Brotherhood men nodded in acknowledgement, Sandor grabbed him again, seething in rage, "You're calling me a fucking liar?"

"She's a fucking beauty!" he slapped his hand away again. "It's hard to believe!"

"Sandor," Celeste felt the need to intervene subtly, knowing her husband was just a hair away from breaking the redhead's jaw with a single punch. She was grateful she had the ability to prevent him from getting into an even bigger mess than they were in now.

"I can't have a big fucker like you walking around the castle," the redhead scoffed. "I'll put your woman and the child in a room with a fire, but—"

"Where she goes, I go," Sandor insisted. "You have my fucking sword; what difference does it make—"

"You don't need a fucking sword to kill a man," the redhead laughed heartily.

"I have a suggestion, sir," Celeste stood from her seat.

"I'm no sir like those kneelers," the redhead said. "Name's Tormund."

"Alright, Tormund," Celeste nodded, bouncing Eloise in her arms to keep her calm. "How about you put us all in a room with a hearth? We promise you we will cause you no trouble, but you may place guards at the door if you do not trust us."

"You're right, I don't trust you lot," he chuckled. "Anyone that wants to go beyond the Wall shouldn't be fucking trusted."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Aye," he nodded and glanced at Sandor with a smirk. "You're lucky I got a beauty waiting for me already, or I would've made her mine."

"Sandor," Celeste snapped when she saw the rage in his eyes. He would've strangled Tormund if she hadn't called to him. Celeste patted his arm. "I appreciate the jealousy, but there's no need to worry."

"Lady Celeste is right," Thoros slurred from his seat on the dungeon floor. "Any man that wants to take her from you obviously has a death wish."


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: I'd like to give a special thanks to Hopeless Romantic Dreamer, Lady Jensen, and SmallLittleCagedBird for consistently leaving such kind words! I also want to thank all of those who have followed and favorited as well! You have no idea how much I appreciate the support! Enjoy!**

* * *

The Wildlings kept their promise and had them all stay in a room with a large fireplace. They had guards posted at the door, but the Brotherhood had no reason to escape. All they wanted was to go beyond the Wall, but Tormund didn't listen to their pleas.

However, it didn't take long for Tormund and his Wildling companions to force the Brotherhood into free labor. Under guard, he had them chop wood on the courtyard of the massive castle and carry it inside. Celeste wasn't required to do any labor—despite his rugged appearance, Tormund was quite chivalrous—but she helped the kitchen staff occasionally and would mend coats and knit gloves or scarves.

It both flattered and exasperated Celeste to see Sandor's frenzied look when Tormund would approach her to engage in small talk—he had nothing to worry about, and he most likely knew that, but Celeste figured it was just his natural instinct to protect what was his. Tormund bluntly told her he sometimes approaches her to amuse himself with Sandor's visible irritation, but when he's genuinely having a conversation, he usually asked her for relationship advice.

"Women like it when men treat them kindly," Celeste told him. "Even simple things like opening doors or helping them up on their horses."

"She doesn't need help riding a horse," Tormund looked up in thought. "She's a big woman."

"Big? What do you mean?"

"She's almost as tall as your husband," he pointed at Sandor swinging his axe to chop a piece of firewood. If it wasn't for six armed guards watching over him and the other Brotherhood men, he would've stomped over to Tormund and buried it into his chest, or at least threatened him with it. "She's a fucking warrior, that one; I can't imagine what making babies with her must be like."

_He can't be referring to Brienne of Tarth_, Celeste blinked in shock. _What are the odds?_

"Even if she's a warrior, she's still a woman," Celeste pointed out. "A woman always falls for a man's attentiveness."

"What the fuck did he do to win you over?" Tormund grunted. "If he can marry a beauty like you, then I can marry the big woman."

"It's quite a long story," Celeste smiled softly at the memories. "But to simplify it all, he makes me feel safe."

"Aye, he looks like he's about ready to see my head rolling down this fucking courtyard," Tormund chuckled, looking past her. Celeste looked over her shoulder to see Sandor had stopped his work and was holding Tormund's glance with a fury strong enough to move mountains.

Eloise babbled as she gnawed on a silver spoon. It worked to keep her entertained while Celeste was with the kitchen staff during the morning and afternoon meals. Celeste adjusted the infant in her arms and kissed her cheek. "That spoon must be delicious, huh?"

The baby girl sensed the amusement in her mother's voice and grinned, making a string of drool drip onto her coat. Celeste wiped it away with her hand before glancing at Tormund, who seemed almost entranced by the mother and child in front of him. His eyes shone with longing, and it almost shocked Celeste to realize this brute of a man, like her husband, only wished to be loved and eventually raise a family of his own.

"Would you like to hold her?" Celeste asked. He was rightfully startled by the offer.

"She won't cry? I'm a scary fucker."

"She won't, I promise."

As expected, Eloise was more than content in Tormund's arms. The spoon would've been tossed aside if Celeste hadn't taken it from her; Tormund's fiery red beard immediately grabbed her attention. Her tiny fingers tangled themselves into it, making the Wildling laugh and Eloise followed suit with an amused gurgle.

Celeste didn't have to turn her head to know the rapid crunching of snow coming towards them was Sandor. The moment he stopped to stand at Celeste's side, she spoke before he had the chance to.

"Relax, it was my idea," Celeste tapped his chest with the spoon. Sandor grumbled incoherently as he watched the Wildling bounce Eloise in his arms whilst imitating her babbles, making the infant laugh hysterically. However, when Eloise took hold of his beard in both hands and tugged roughly, Sandor couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

"Shite!" Tormund hissed, making Eloise hiccup with laughter. "She's got the grip of a fucking giant!"

* * *

"What's wrong, woman?"

Sitting at the edge of her cot near the fire, Celeste eyed the Brotherhood men across the room, eating the last of the of stale bread at the wooden table. Eloise was soundly asleep on the cot, the blanket Celeste had knitted not too long ago giving her an extra layer of warmth. Celeste may be able to read Sandor's expressions, but he unknowingly has become quite keen at noticing her emotions as well.

"I'm nervous about this going beyond the Wall business," Celeste whispered to him, thankful the roaring fire in the hearth kept their conversation between them. Sandor was sitting in a chair in front of her, the dancing flames outlining his face as it fell with worry. He covered her hands folded on her lap with one of his.

"I saw it in the flames, as fucking mad as that sounds," he told her softly. "For once, Dondarrion isn't spouting nonsense."

"But what am I to do beyond the Wall, Sandor?" she asked. She turned her head towards Eloise. "It was hard enough keeping Eloise warm and caring for her on our journey up here; I can't imagine going further north."

"A part of me wants to tell them to fuck off and ride back south," he squeezed her hands. "But we go down there, and I have a bounty on my head and Cersei ruling Lannister lands where Clegane's Keep is. We're bloody surrounded."

"I've come to terms knowing that this is something you have to do," Celeste nodded. "But it doesn't make me worry any less."

"I don't even know what it is we're supposed to be doing up there," Sandor shrugged his massive shoulders. "I doubt we'll be able to kill all of those undead fucks ourselves."

"We should've crossed the Narrow Sea and left Westeros behind," Celeste said. "I'm sure the undead can't swim."

"We're fucked if they can," Sandor chuckled at her dry humor. He took her small hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Stop worrying, woman; that's my fucking job."

"If I don't worry for you then who will?" she smiled.

The door of their room opened, revealing Tormund followed by four other men in black cloaks. The oldest man had greying hair and a matching beard, while the second man at his side was blonde and blue-eyed. The third man was visibly younger than the other two and carried a large sword on his belt with a distinctive pommel of a pure white wolf's head. Next to him was a boy old enough to be a man, yet still possessing the face of a teenager—said face was striking Celeste with familiarity.

"Gendry?" Celeste stood from the cot, eyes wide.

"Lady Celeste," he recognized her as well. "What are you doing with these Brotherhood bastards? Last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a Red Witch to be murdered!"

"Yes, Arya mentioned that," Celeste nodded.

"Arya?" said the young man with the sword. "You've met my sister?"

"My husband and I traveled with her for over a year," Celeste said, gesturing at Sandor as he stood from his chair. "But she left for Braavos months ago; she said she had friends there."

"Sansa sent word; Arya arrived in Winterfell not too long ago."

Excitement and relief bubbled in Celeste, and she couldn't help but grin widely at the news. It gave her so much joy to know Arya was finally reunited with Sansa—she remembers how the young girl was grief-stricken at the thought of never seeing her sister ever again.

The young man immediately eyed Sandor with a confused frown and added, "You're the Hound, aren't you? I saw you once in Winterfell when King Robert came to visit my father."

"Aye, you're the bastard—Jon Snow," Sandor nodded. "I remember you."

Fate seemed to have purposefully crossed their paths; too many coincidences were occurring for this not to be fate. Jon Snow and his party also wanted to go beyond the Wall to capture one of the undead to convince Queen Cersei and the Dragon Queen Daenerys of the danger marching south; Beric immediately pointed out this was the Lord's doing and that this was what their duty beyond the Wall was to be.

"We're all on the same side," Jon Snow pointed out.

Gendry, still annoyed Jon was even considering trusting the Brotherhood, scoffed. "How can we be?"

"We're all breathing," he said simply.

Celeste didn't think she'd feel such a gnawing emptiness in her as she watched Sandor tying his boots and adjusting the straps of his bag on his shoulders. He was going beyond the Wall with the King of the North to hopefully bring proof of the Long Night upon them. Celeste couldn't argue with him when he firmly told her to stay in the castle; she and Eloise would be safer here.

"Please be careful, Sandor," Celeste felt her voice wavering at the mere thought of losing him. "Come back to me."

He avoided responding by leaning down to kiss her lips; he didn't want to make false promises. When he parted from her, he reached for Eloise, smoothing down her dark curls gently with the pads of his fingers. The infant babbled in confusion, sensing the thick tension between her parents but not knowing what was causing it. Her small hands reached for Sandor, silently asking him to carry her, and Sandor felt his heart shatter. He didn't want to leave them behind, but he needed to do this for his daughter's future.

"I love you," Celeste whispered to him as she ran her fingers through his beard affectionately. Sandor's eyes fluttered closed; he'll miss her touch the most.

Ironically enough, he has the courage to face the undead beyond the Wall but none whatsoever to return his wife's words. He only hummed, running his thumb over his wife's tear-streaked cheek and committing it to memory just in case he didn't come back. He kissed his daughter's forehead, and then turned to follow Jon Snow and his party to the gates leading to the frozen wasteland beyond the Wall.

He didn't look back; he'd be tempted to return for another goodbye and become trapped in an endless cycle.


	31. Chapter 31

Days went on without any news of the men that left beyond the Wall. Celeste tried her hardest to keep herself occupied; she'd play with Eloise and care for her, and when she was taking her midday nap, she'd help the kitchen staff, knit and mend clothing, and take a walk around the enormous castle. The latter was always dangerous to do: she'd always find her way to the gate leading beyond the Wall. She'd close her eyes and she could still see Sandor disappearing down the dark tunnel. How she dreamed she'd see him walk through it again and into her arms. On certain days when she missed him dearly, her mind would wander, and she couldn't help but imagine Jon Snow and his party returning without Sandor in tow or dragging his soulless body back.

Eloise could sense when her mother was lost in thought and would babble to get her attention. She's already begun to crawl, and her antics always amused Celeste. She is a curious child and always explored every nook and cranny she could before Celeste picked her up from the ground. Thankfully, she took after her mother when it came to baths. Celeste would fill a small basin with water warmed over the stove in the kitchens and Eloise never failed to kick her feet in excitement when she saw it. She'd splash her tiny hands into the water and even try to grab it, letting out a frustrated shriek when she couldn't grasp the liquid in her hands like she would a silver spoon or her mother's hair.

"She's beautiful, my lady," Ser Davos said with a genuine smile. "It's a joy to see her smile like she does."

"Thank you," Celeste returned the grin. She'd spread out a knitted blanket on the mess hall floor and let Eloise sit among an array of silver spoons. She was laughing to herself, finding her reflection on the face of the spoons incredibly entertaining.

"The Hound is quite fond of her," he pointed out. "I saw the way he bid farewell to her, and to you; he was heartbroken."

"Contrary to popular belief, my husband is very sentimental," she smiled mischievously at him. "Don't tell him I told you that—he has a reputation to keep."

"I wouldn't dare!" he chuckled, but it quickly dissolved when he saw Celeste's face fall at the memory of her husband. He added gently, "Don't you worry; Jon Snow will bring all of those men back safe and sound."

"I pray he does," Celeste clenched her fists on her lap. "I wouldn't want Eloise to grow up without her father."

"My son would always beg for me to take him on my travels," Davos chuckled softly. "I was a smuggler, you see; I never wanted him to come along because it was dangerous."

"Where is he now?" she asked.

"He's dead," he stated simply, though his tone was solemn. "He died during the Battle of the Blackwater when the wildfire exploded."

"Wildfire?"

"Tyrion Lannister had a ship filled with barrels of wildfire sail into our fleet and then set it ablaze with a flaming arrow," Davos explained. "Our fleet burned before our eyes; our men, our sails—everything."

"Sandor mentioned that," Celeste nodded. "He was plagued with nightmares of the Blackwater on fire—we left King's Landing during that battle."

"The horrors of war plague all of Westeros," Davos' eyes watched Eloise falling onto her back to catch her foot in her mouth. "I believe in Jon; he will bring peace with him, and will give your daughter a better world to grow up in."

"I don't know who to believe anymore," Celeste sighed.

A commotion stirred on the courtyard of the castle. Davos sprung out of his chair and approached a nearby window, trying to see what caused the sudden skirmish. Celeste was quick to stand as well, and scooped Eloise from the floor. She held her tightly against her chest as she hurried to Davos' side.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"Someone's arrived at the gate," Davos said.

Celeste's heart skipped a beat at the news and Eloise cooed nervously when she felt her mother trembling. Thankfully, she didn't fuss and only rested her cheek on Celeste's shoulder as they hurried out of the mess hall and into the courtyard of the castle. It was the early evening, and the darkness along with the shrieking blizzard made it extremely difficult to see at arm's length.

Ser Davos snatched a torch from a Wildling that held it out to him, and silently gestured to Celeste to stay put before disappearing into the all-consuming tunnel. Celeste rocked Eloise nervously, shivering from the cold winds hitting her body despite the layers she wore. She heard the chains cranking as they opened the gates of the Wall and the distant crunching of snow that stood out against the whistling winds.

To her horror, Ser Davos and the men he went into the tunnel with only emerged with one man: Gendry.

"Lady Celeste!" Davos called out to her through the blizzard. "Prepare hot water! He'll freeze to death!"

The blizzard storming outside was nothing compared to the one raging in Celeste's head. She wanted to stay rooted to her spot, to see if Sandor would miraculously emerge from the tunnel, but Davos yelled at her again and it prompted her to move. She ran into the castle, placing Eloise in a large wicker basket and began boiling water and gathering any spare piece of cloth. When she carried out the pot of steaming water, Ser Davos, the castle's maester, and a shivering, frost-covered Gendry were sitting close to the hearth in the mess hall.

"Send that raven with haste!" Davos cried to the maester. The old man bowed and hurried out of the room as Celeste set the pot down and began dampening the cloths in the water. Gendry's teeth were chattering; he didn't even react when she began to pat his frost-bitten skin with the warm cloth.

"What's happened?" Celeste found the courage to ask. Gendry had no energy to speak, so Davos spoke for him.

"They're in trouble out there," Davos sighed heavily. "Jon had Gendry run back here to send a raven to Queen Daenerys to come with her dragons."

Celeste knew Queen Daenerys Targaryen had three fully-grown dragons as large as this castle, but it was still an odd thing to hear a person say as casually as one would claim to have three horses.

"Is Sandor alive?" she asked, her stomach churning at the thought of how frost-bitten, how exhausted, how hungry, how freezing he must be. Gendry couldn't speak because of his chattering teeth and chills, but he nodded quickly. Celeste held back tears of relief.

* * *

Celeste saw Queen Daenerys' dragons fly overhead the next morning, answering the summons sent via raven during the night. They flew like arrows across the grey sky and shrieked so loudly, Celeste was sure she felt the ground tremble in response. Each of the dragons' wings were a different hue: blood red, green and bronze, and golden orange.

A few hours later, only two of the three dragons returned, crying out with that monstrous sound that made Celeste's ears ring. She'd seen the dragons in the sky at a distance, and she knew they were enormous, but it was nothing compared to seeing one up close. The largest one, its scales black and wings blood red, dipped down onto the courtyard. The flapping of its wings sharpened the cold air and made everything from barrels to weapons to wooden crates tumble in its wake. Horses tethered nearby neighed in fright and when its clawed feet landed on the frozen stone, the ground shook and creaked.

A young woman climbed off the dragon like one would dismount a horse. She wore a beautifully tailored grey coat lined with white fur and matching gloves, sturdy brown boots, and a silver brooch bearing the heads of three dragons. Her white-blonde hair was intricately braided against the back of her head and brushed her waist from how long it was. From behind her emerged four men; among them Sandor, who carried a twitching body over his broad shoulder.

Despite the cold air whipping her face from the dragon flying away, Celeste felt the relief wash over her like a hot bath; it nearly made her knees give out from underneath her. She couldn't bring herself to speak; to cry out his name and make turn his head in her direction. Oddly enough, she didn't need to—it was as if he could sense her presence. His eyes immediately met hers across the courtyard and it made her laugh breathlessly upon seeing his frost-covered beard curl up when he smiled at her.

She doesn't recall running to him, but she does recall Sandor dropping the body he carried over his shoulder on the cold stone floor like a worthless sack of bricks to pull her off her feet in an embrace. His clothing was covering in ice and his skin was deathly cold, but she felt a warmth buzz just beneath her skin at his touch. She felt as if she was floating, though it could've just been because he was holding her a good distance off the ground.

"Eloise?" he asked.

"Napping," Celeste muttered against his shoulder, her arms tightening around her neck. She didn't want to let go, but she loosened her grip on him when he bent down to gently place her on the ground. She looked down at the twitching body near them with ropes bounding it tightly and a hood covering the face of what she assumed was a man. The harsh gurgles coming from it; however, didn't sound human. "Who is that?"

"You don't want to look at that, woman," Sandor told her firmly and turned to swing a kick into its chest. The body stopped twitching but continued making those inhuman noises. He turned to look at her again, reaching out to touch her face with his frosty glove. "I'd kill for a hot fucking bath right now."

"Is that really you, Sandor?" Celeste teased.

* * *

Celeste ran him a hot bath, pouring the steaming water into one of the few bathtubs in Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. As the water cooled considerably, she helped Sandor out of the many layers he wore and checked him for injuries with each one he peeled off.

"Just a few bruises, woman," he reassured her.

Eloise was awake when Celeste went to check on her and the infant was delighted to see her father again after so long. She gurgled and laughed, tugging at his hair and beard in affection. Celeste had already bathed her that morning, but Eloise didn't mind getting into the water again. Sandor was incredibly amused to see her splashing at the water and looking incredibly pleased whilst doing so; he held her in his large hands, rocking her in the tub and making her giggle.

"Thoros didn't make it," Sandor told her softly. Celeste assumed that was the case; she didn't see the Red Priest dismount from the dragon. She carefully poured a pitcher of water over his head, washing out the ice in his long hair and detangling it with her fingers. He added, "It was my fault."

"Don't say that," Celeste brushed her fingertips against his scars. She felt his skin tighten in a frown.

"That fucking bear was on fire, and I froze like I always do," he sighed heavily. His only solace at the moment was watching Eloise chewing on her fists and looking up at him with curious blue eyes. "He got in the way and let that bear maul him to pieces to save me."

"He sacrificed himself for you," Celeste tried to console him. "It was his choice; he could've let that bear come for you, but he didn't."

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

"I don't know," she put her hands on his massive shoulders, caressing his skin affectionately. "But because of him, you're here now, and I will forever be in his debt."

"We both are," he smoothed down Eloise's dark curls absentmindedly. "He helped you push this little hairball out."

"Helped? All he did was go on and on about the Lord," Celeste joked, proud to hear Sandor chuckle softly. In reality, Thoros was a natural during the birth of Eloise, soothing Celeste's nerves and guiding her through the pain that gripped her and left her dizzy, tying her hair up in a ribbon for her and dabbing a cool cloth over her forehead after every push. Celeste will never forget the moment she felt her child finally leave her womb and the moment she heard those high-pitched cries. When she brought her head up to see, Thoros was holding the pink, wailing newborn up in his bloodied hands. His smile lit the room like a thousand suns.

"_The Lord has blessed you with a beautiful girl! Let's hope she looks like you!" _


	32. Chapter 32

Sandor has traveled on ships before when he would accompany the royal family on their travels. He never recalled becoming seasick or dizzy on a ship whilst traveling, and yet, Celeste seemed to have little tolerance for the swaying of the ship destined for King's Landing.

Sandor winced at hearing Celeste retch into a chamber pot for the second time. Nothing came out of her, but the sound was enough to put Sandor in a mild state of panic. Eloise was also a bit fussy and kept babbling nervously at the odd sounds her mother was making, and the feeling of her father's tense arms carrying her.

"You don't want me to call a maester, woman?" Sandor asked, rocking Eloise gently. Ever since the ship set sail, Celeste hasn't been able to leave their shared bedchamber; lying on the bed under the blankets was the only relief she managed to get from the dizziness clouding her mind.

"It'll pass," Celeste sighed heavily. "This is my first time on a ship."

Thankfully, she was right, and by the third day at sea, her dizziness and nausea had faded entirely. She was able to eat again and keep it down but was still having trouble adjusting her wobbly legs on the swaying ship. Nevertheless, Sandor was relieved to see some color in his wife's face. Eloise was luckily unaffected by the sea travel and babbled and laughed and pulled on his hair as if she were on land. Sandor was certainly starting to see their resemblance: nothing ever truly bothered her other than hunger.

It'd been a while since they had a room to themselves; their entire stay at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was in the same room as the Brotherhood. Now that they were alone, Sandor craved her like wine, especially after going beyond the Wall and spending so long away from her—longer than he's ever been away from her side. Thinking of her was what kept him warm the entire expedition to catch that undead bastard locked in a box below deck.

Sandor was sneakily watching her rocking Eloise in her arms, pacing their small room while doing so. He was already laying down on their bed, his head turned to the side to get a good look at her. Celeste was wearing a simple nightgown and the candles flickering softly with the sway of the ship were outlining her body underneath in a dark silhouette. It was hard not to trace his eyes over each curve, knowing what it all looked like underneath the sheer fabric. He thought of all the different ways he could initiate intimacy—kissing her, touching her, embracing her, pulling her underneath him—but he just thought he'd blatantly ask. His boldness always amuses her.

When Celeste started to tuck an asleep Eloise into her wicker basket, Sandor closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He thought he'd surprise her after she turned in for bed.

He heard her blow out the candles, leaving the room in near darkness. He opened his eyes and looked up at the shadowy ceiling, feeling the mattress sink with Celeste's weight and the blankets shifting with her movement. He didn't get to turn towards her or even open his mouth to speak. He only managed to grunt in surprise when he felt her small body climb on top of him underneath the covers.

"I know you're awake," she whispered in the darkness, her breath hot against his jawline. "You're not snoring."

"I can never trick you, woman," his chest rumbled in a low chuckle.

"I missed you, Sandor," she pressed her lips against his, kissing him tenderly. His hands had a mind of their own as they ran over her arched back, pulling her nightgown up in the process and feeling her smooth skin underneath. When she parted from him, she added, "I was worried sick every day."

All he could think about while he was beyond the Wall was Celeste's face of horror when the news of his death reached her. How devastated she'd be. How Eloise would grow up and barely remember him. How his girls would be alone in the world without him to protect them.

He only hummed, finding it incredibly difficult to tell her everything he felt. He was such a coward.

"Were you expecting me to pounce on you?" she mused, rolling her hips against his erection.

"I was planning on pouncing on _you_," he admitted. He sighed softly when he felt her align their hips and sink into him. His hands immediately went for her hips, steadying her as she began to rock against him. "You beat me to it."

"I do enjoy being unpredictable," she giggled breathlessly against his neck.

They made love as quietly as possible; they didn't want to wake Eloise and ruin the moment they created for themselves. Sandor's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see Celeste's outline and knew whenever she threw her head back. There was something so passionate about intimacy in complete darkness; with his sight cut off, his mind could only focus on how her hips rocked on his, or her skin on his rough hands, or her lips against his, or the sound of her whimper when she trembled with her release. He eased her onto her back and buried his face into her neck, sighing against her skin when she pressed kisses against his burned cheek. It made shivers run up his spine when she did so; it always made him wonder how she was never bothered or repulsed by such a thing. The thought made a fluttering erupt in his belly, and he grunted with his own release. After sharing a few fleeting kisses, he collapsed on top of her, shifting his weight off to the side to avoid crushing her. He heard her whisper those three loving words to him before he fell asleep.

* * *

They arrived in King's Landing on a warm morning; it felt good to be away from the cold. Sandor hauled the box with the undead skeleton onto a horse-drawn carriage by the docks and waited for the party accompanying Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys to the Dragonpit where they were to meet Queen Cersei. He bid a short goodbye to Celeste and Eloise, who were to remain onboard the anchored ship with some servants and Unsullied guards.

"Be safe, Sandor," Celeste smiled at him. "Remember to come back to me."

"I don't think I'll forget," Sandor kissed her lips and moved to kiss his daughter's head. He narrowly missed her iron grip when she reached for his hair.

It felt strange to walk through the city he deserted amidst a battle. He thought if he ever returned to King's Landing, it'd be to get executed for treason. Instead, he's trudging around an undead bastard in a carriage to bring before a summit of the most powerful figureheads in Westeros and could also, quite possibly, be walking into a trap. He didn't dare mention this to Celeste; he didn't want to make her worry.

He received the shock of his life upon meeting the gaze of Brienne of Tarth as his party neared the Dragonpit. He instantly avoided her eyes and hoped she wouldn't approach him, but she did no such thing. She stopped on the dirt path long enough for him to catch up to her and then walked at his pace. For a woman her size, it was a relatively easy thing to do.

"I thought you were dead," she began.

"Not yet," Sandor replied and gave her the credit she deserved. "You came pretty close."

"I was only trying to protect her."

"You and me both."

She paused briefly before speaking again. "She's alive, you know; she's in Winterfell."

"I know," Sandor nodded. "But who's protecting her if you're here?"

"The only one that needs protecting is anyone that gets in her way," Brienne stated frankly. Sandor couldn't help but scoff amusingly. Only the Gods know what that the girl did in Braavos to earn herself such a statement from Brienne of Tarth.

"And your wife?" Brienne asked. "Is she still with you?"

"Aye, she stayed behind on the ship with Eloise."

"Eloise?"

Sandor liked the surge of pride he felt shoot through him when he met Brienne's blue eyes; he couldn't even help the smile that curled his beard. "Our daughter."

Brienne responded with a matching smile.

They arrived at the Dragonpit shortly thereafter. It was eerie to be surrounded by Lannister soldiers, and even though Jon Snow had brought along some of the Dragon Queen's Dothraki, it still had Sandor's nerves on edge. Wanting to shake his frustration off, he approached Tyrion Lannister, who seemed just as anxious as he was.

"I left this shit city because I didn't want to die in it," he grumbled. "Am I going to die in this shit city?"

"You might," the dwarf responded morbidly.

"This is all your idea," Sandor scoffed. "Seems every bad idea has some Lannister cunt behind it."

"And some Clegane cunt to help them see it through," he retorted smoothly. Sandor couldn't help but nod in agreement; even now he was indirectly serving a Lannister's interests.

Queen Cersei arrived in the Dragonpit with her brother, Ser Jaime, and her Kingsguard wearing black and silver armor with a helmet that covered their faces. The largest one of the Kingsguard, walking closest to the queen, caught his eye immediately. He was easily taller than him, and much bigger in width. He knew who he was instantly and a rage he hasn't felt in ages began to boil inside him. His blind anger drove Sandor to leave his spot near Jon Snow and approach the enormous knight.

Thinking Sandor was after the queen, he placed his monstrous hand on the hilt of his broadsword and stepped forward. Sandor stopped right in front of him, staring into his barren, inhuman eyes and noted that the skin around them was deathly pale as if he was a corpse that'd been rotting for weeks.

"Remember me?" Sandor asked, though he knew the answer. This monster's eyes—Gregor's—narrowed in subtle recognition. He even lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword, showing a familiarity Sandor was enraged to see. Gregor never felt threatened by his little brother.

"You're even fucking uglier than I am now; what did they do to you?" Sandor continued. His brother's bloodshot, pupil-less eyes were speaking to him silently, but he didn't physically speak—or _couldn't _speak. "Doesn't matter. You know who's coming for you—you've always known."

After Queen Daenerys arrived on her dragon, the summit began. Bringing out the undead skeleton, nearly strangling Cersei in the process, and having it crawl on the floor even after Sandor had sliced it in half with his sword seemed to have the desired effect. Jon Snow demonstrated the two ways to kill the undead, either through dragonglass or with fire, and killed the shrieking skeleton in front of everyone.

To everyone's shock and relief, Queen Cersei was convinced and promised to send her armies north to fight the undead with Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys. Truth be told, Sandor wasn't paying attention to any of the politics occurring around him. The sight of his brother—the mere_ thought_ of his brother—was enough to ruin his day entirely. That hatred he was just starting to put aside was beginning to bubble in him again, and if it wouldn't cause the accord these aristocratic bastards agreed on to shatter, he would've drawn his sword and fought his brother right then and there.

It was sundown by the time they returned to the ship on the harbor, and Sandor was still seething. Upon climbing on the deck of the ship with the others, Celeste appeared with Eloise in her arms. His tense shoulders immediately dropped at the sight of his wife and daughter, but his displeasure was still leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He felt guilty for thinking he didn't even want to be near them with this foul mood he was in.

"Sandor!" Celeste called out to him happily. When she finally stood before him, she turned her head to Eloise and used her free hand to point a finger towards Sandor. "Eloise, who's that?"

The infant was chewing on her fist, her big blue eyes trailing up to meet her father's. At the sight of him, the dimple appeared on her cheek and she removed her fist to babble, "Papa!"

It was hard to think of Gregor after that.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: I am so happy to see we've reached 100 reviews! It wouldn't have been possible without your continued support! I've written a long one to celebrate! Enjoy!**

* * *

Arya didn't remember the last time she felt her heart in her throat. Sure, she's felt it when she was in a fight, or when she killed someone who wronged her family. As of late, her list of doomed men and women was becoming shorter and being back home in Winterfell has calmed her nerves—as odd as that may sound considering her sister used to annoy her to no end.

This tight feeling in chest was unlike any other, and Arya knew exactly what it was. She experienced it when she saw Sansa again, and when she saw Bran again. And now, she was feeling it again at the prospect of seeing Jon. Sansa received word a fortnight ago: Jon managed to convince Cersei of the danger of the Night King and his army, and now marched north with Queen Daenerys and her dragons.

She was ecstatic to see Jon again, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't as equally excited to catch a glimpse of those dragons.

Arya couldn't wait for the army walked through the gates of Winterfell. She ventured out of her home and joined the crowd gathering in the town over. An army of men in light armor, helmets, shields, and spears, their rhythmic marching constant and even. It was as if they weren't human—no matter how disciplined, soldiers never marched in complete unison. Arya couldn't help but realize Queen Daenerys' army was as grand as Jon described it in his letters.

It wasn't long before she saw Jon. He didn't see her in the crowd, but Arya didn't mind. He hadn't changed a bit; he was still the brother she left behind when she left for King's Landing all those years ago. Riding at his side was a young woman with braided light blonde hair and a white winter coat. Arya assumed this was the anticipated Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

Arya looked to the skies, hoping to see the dragons flying above her head. Seeing nothing but grey clouds, she brought her eyes back down on the marching army. She couldn't believe what she saw.

It was the Hound—it was Sandor! He wasn't wearing the armor she'd last seen him in but wore a thick leather coat, trousers and boots. Like Jon, he hadn't changed at all; his irritable expression was still prominent on his scarred face. Riding on a chestnut brown horse to his left was Celeste. Her reddish blonde hair was longer than Arya remembered it and was braided back and against her skull similar to Queen Daenerys'. Her soft crystalline blue eyes were still a telltale sign of the woman Arya knew she was: kind, and motherly, and affectionate.

A little girl sat on the saddle in front of Celeste. Her head was a mess of raven curls decorated with a knitted headband that no doubt kept her ears warm. Her dark layers of clothing made her alabaster skin look like freshly fallen snow and her big blue eyes stood out like sparkling jewels. She looked to be about a year old and by the way her mouth was opening and closing, Arya could tell the toddler was babbling.

Arya had an inkling, but when the child extended her arms toward Sandor, nearly falling off the saddle if Celeste didn't have an arm around her, she knew. Sandor's stiff broad shoulders dropped, and his grumpy expression melted away at the call of the baby girl. He reached over the space between his horse and Celeste's, and with little effort, wrapped an arm around the toddler and placed her on the saddle in front of him. He held her in place with his left hand while the other held onto the reins of his horse. The little girl laughed in his arms.

* * *

"Last time I was here was with that cunt Joffrey," Sandor grumbled. The army had stopped just outside of Winterfell's gates, letting Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys be greeted by the lords and ladies of the North, including the Lady of Winterfell herself. Sandor wondered what she looked like now after all these years; he's heard nasty rumors about her marriage to that Ramsay Bolton, and he can't imagine how that sweet, innocent girl has turned out after so much grief.

"I've never been here," Celeste looked up at the pillars and watchtowers of the stronghold. "It's beautiful."

"Cold as shite, too," Sandor scoffed lightly. "I hope they have wine."

Sitting on her father's saddle, Eloise blew raspberries with her lips and then laughed hysterically. Celeste wasn't too pleased Eloise learned something so unladylike, and much less at the insistence of Sandor who found it amusing, but it became incredibly endearing the more Eloise laughed at the noises she made. The bubbles of saliva she created as a result always intrigued her and Celeste figured she blew raspberries often in an attempt to recreate the bubbles on her lips.

"I can't imagine how much Sansa and Arya have grown," Celeste sighed, her breath creating a fog in front of her face. "They were both just girls when I last saw them."

"Arya's apparently some bloody assassin," Sandor pointed out. "She might kill me in my fucking sleep."

"Doubt it," Celeste laughed. "She grew quite fond of you, you know."

"Aye, and I'm Lord of Casterly Rock," Sandor rolled his eyes sarcastically. That Stark girl hated his guts; she was on her list for Gods' sake!

The army eventually began to move forward and Sandor and Celeste rode into the courtyard of Winterfell. They dismounted and Sandor offered to take the horses to the stables, Eloise sitting on the length of his arm like the lightest feather in Westeros. Celeste took that time to walk onto the courtyard, eyeing servants scrambling this way and that, soldiers and Unsullied being led to their quarters, goats and chickens strolling around freely.

"Celeste!"

Hearing her name, Celeste turned and saw none other than Sansa and Arya standing side by side. They'd indeed grown into beautiful women during their time apart. Sansa stood taller than Celeste, her Tully red hair cascading down her small back, her features sharpened and matured, and her blue eyes focused and wise as opposed to how naïve and hopeful they used to be. Arya stood eye-level with Celeste, but like Sansa, her face was no longer that of the little girl's Celeste constantly tried to clean with wet rags. Her dark hair was longer, touching her shoulders, and braided back at the temples. Her eyes shone with maturity, but she could still see the playful spark that was all Arya.

"Oh, look at you!" Celeste felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she brought Sansa in for an embrace. The girl laughed, wrapping her arms around her tightly. "I can't believe you both have grown so much!"

Celeste parted to embrace Arya, her mind flashing back to that day somewhere in the Vale where she watched Arya leave for Braavos while she stayed with a wounded Sandor. Celeste always hoped she'd see the Stark girls again, but never in her dreams did she ever think she'd see them both at the same time, side by side.

"You haven't changed, Celeste," Sansa smiled softly. "It was Arya who told me you were traveling with Jon and Queen Daenerys; she saw you marching with the army."

"I knew you'd see each other again," Celeste clapped her hands in excitement. "I remember you both were scared you would never be reunited."

"I never said that," Arya scoffed, but the smirk on her face gave her away. "And I can see you finally consummated your marriage."

"Arya!" Sansa let out in amused shock. Celeste couldn't help but blush; she recalled telling Arya she didn't wish to nor would she consummate her marriage with Sandor.

"Your memory is sharper than steel," Celeste pinched her cheek playfully. "And that's not a ladylike thing to say at all."

"Is she talking about the Hound?" Sansa asked. "I remember you had lost a child in King's Landing."

"That was all a ploy to make everyone believe we were performing our duties as man and wife," Celeste blushed slightly. "Sandor was a perfect gentleman."

"Speaking of the devil," Sansa looked past Celeste, who followed her eyes to see Sandor walking towards them, one arm holding Eloise face out against his abdomen.

"Must you carry her like a sack of potatoes?" Celeste sighed softly, her breath visible in the cold air. The toddler blew raspberries as they walked closer.

"She doesn't mind," he shrugged his massive shoulders and turned his head to look down at Sansa and Arya. "Never thought I'd see the Stark girls again."

"I thought you died after your fight with Brienne," Arya was as blunt as always.

"You thought wrong," Sandor scoffed. To anyone who didn't know him, they might say he was annoyed, but Celeste knew he loved Arya's boldness. "Don't let me catch you trying to kill me, girl; I'm sure you still remember what will happen if you try and fail."

"I wouldn't," Arya shot back, smirking. "But you've been off my list for a while."

"Ha!" Celeste jabbed his arm triumphantly. Eloise babbled excitably in response.

"I'm glad you two found happiness in each other," Sansa smiled. "You both deserve it."

"Mama!" Eloise stretched her arms towards Celeste, who took her in her arms and kissed her cheek.

"Eloise, this is Sansa and Arya," Celeste pointed.

"Sa-sa, na-na," Eloise babbled out what she could in her toddler language.

"She's beautiful, Celeste," Sansa reached out and took Eloise's plump first in her long fingers. The baby girl laughed at her touch and cooed. "Congratulations, both of you."

"She's nearly a year old," Sandor pointed out, his eyes scanning the women before him. "I'm surrounded by fucking girls."

"A lady's touch was needed to soften you up," Sansa smiled. "Come inside and we'll have tea and honey cakes—I remember you always telling me your mother made the best in all of Westeros."

"Oh yes!" Celeste hummed. "Honey cakes sound delicious!"

"There better be wine," Sandor grumbled.

* * *

While on their march north, Sandor had shared his unfiltered thoughts with Celeste one night they turned in. They were in their warm tent; Celeste was knitting a pair of gloves while Sandor was sitting adjacent to her, urging Eloise to walk towards him. She'd already taken her first steps a while back, much to the happiness of her parents, and now she had to work on her balance.

"_The bastard and the dragon woman are fucking idiots," Sandor told her quietly. Eloise took two steps forward and Sandor caught her before she fell. The baby girl laughed. "Cersei's a cunt; she'll never march her army north to fight."_

"_I'm trying my best to stay positive," Celeste sighed softly, but a part of her knew her husband was right._

Her husband was entirely correct.

Jaime Lannister arrived in Winterfell and stood before everyone, announcing his sister's broken treaty. She never had any intention to march her army north, and the news of this betrayal caused a deep wound in everyone's morale. They were to fight with the men they had, and while Celeste knew nothing of war strategy and fighting, she knew that by the way Sandor's shoulders squared, it wasn't enough.

Sandor had insisted Gendry make him an enormous axe of dragonglass; while he liked to fight with swords, he preferred the heaviness and brutality of an axe. It was much more efficient at slicing cleanly through his enemies.

"Gendry's good at what he does," Celeste told him gently. Night had fallen over Winterfell, and while they had a large room to themselves and the hearth's strong flames kept it comfortably warm, there was no ignoring the tension floating in the air. Tonight was to be the battle; _the_ battle. The undead were marching closer and closer, and their forces would be among them when the moon was directly above their heads.

"Who would've thought a Baratheon would be good for something," Sandor wanted it to sound playful, but it came out duller than a butter knife. He never found himself at a loss of words with his wife; there was always some teasing jab, some conversation, some thought they'd share.

Not tonight. They were silent.

Eloise had been blinking slowly for the past few minutes as she lay between her parents on their bed. Sandor brushed a curl from her forehead, her breath becoming even and deep. Sandor always thought she looked just as beautiful asleep as she did awake. She preferred to sleep on her back like he did and with her little arms on either side of her head. Her cheeks glowed rosy pink, brushed by her long dark lashes as her expressive blue eyes moved behind her closed eyelids.

Sandor sat up and carefully scooped her up and placed her in her wicker basket, tucking her in with thick knitted blankets. He was astonished she didn't even stir when he did so.

"I gave her essence of nightshade," Celeste's soft voice spoke from behind him. Sandor turned his head to meet her glance as she continued, "She'll sleep soundly through the entire night; I'd prefer she be asleep, just in case…"

She trailed off, but Sandor knew the words his wife could not say. _In case we lose the battle. In case we're all killed. _It was better if Eloise never knew of the bloodshed happening around her; better she never see it nor hear it.

Sandor silently approached the edge of the bed, meeting Celeste's watery eyes as she knelt before him. They stared at one another, the crackling of the fire adding some much needed noise to their suffocating silence. There was nothing to say. They knew what was bound to happen, and they found no reason to speak. They knew each other's thoughts as if they shared one mind; Sandor knew the tear he wiped away from her cheek escaped her at the thought of losing him, and Celeste knew that his silence meant that he could not promise his return or even their safety.

All they could do was appreciate their final moments together; what could be the last time they ever see each other. It was strange to make love this way; so sorrowful and serious. Their kisses were deep and salty with tears, their movements languid and gentle. They didn't want it to end; they wanted to remain like this, entangled and together, warm and safe. Sandor's heart shattered to pieces when he heard a sob escape her against the crook of his neck; he didn't want to see her this way. He kissed her to avoid hearing another one leave her lips. She clawed his skin, trying her hardest to contain her emotions to no avail.

Alas, their pleasure came to a bittersweet end, and Sandor held her against his chest. Her fingers ran through his chest hair absentmindedly, and while tears stained her cheeks, they were dry and none came down to join them. The hearth still blazed brightly, making shadows dance around in the darkness of the room.

_Don't be a coward._

"I don't know if I should tell you," Celeste whispered so low, he almost didn't hear her. Those deep blue eyes rose to meet his own, red with tears and grief. "I don't know if it will distract you out there."

"You'll regret not telling me if I don't…" he trailed off. _If I don't come back._

Celeste smiled sadly. "I'm with child."

Sandor breathed in shakily, his beard curling with his grin. His large hand reached down to press against her flat belly; the belly that once carried his daughter and now carried his second child. He's the luckiest man in this world.

"I want a boy now," he said against the crown of her head. "So he can protect you both for me."

"Should we pick a name?"

"I chose Eloise's; it's your turn."

She closed her eyes in thought, but it didn't take her a second to think of a name. "Rory. He was a sailor with a heart of gold in one of my favorite novels; he reminds me a lot of you."

"At least he's not a knight," Sandor chuckled. "I should also probably get something off my chest."

"What is it?"

"It's a secret I've never told you about," he mumbled. "I think you'll be fucking angry with me."

"What did you do?" she pouted playfully.

Sandor pushed a lock of her hair back from her face before speaking, "Back when we were on the road, and you'd go off to have those fucking baths you love so much, I'd hide in the bushes and wank off to you."

Celeste burst into laughter and Sandor, proud that he made her laugh so heartily, added, "Those were the best fucking wanks of my life; I looked forward to your baths."

"What am I to do with you?" she was laughing, but there was a tinge of sorrow in her eyes.

_Tell her. Say it. _

"Oh Sandor," she sighed, burying her face into the crevice of his neck. "Come back to me, please; I don't know what I'll do without you."

He traced a finger over her spine, relishing in the smoothness of her skin against his rough hands. He's held her naked against his chest so many times, and yet, he never tired of the comfort her warm skin gave him. It was like nothing he'd even experienced, and if he died tonight, he'll think of how she felt in this very moment.

"I love you," he said. It was quick and breathless, but he finally said it. His heart thumped against his chest as if there was a chance she'd reject his feelings—a stupid thing to think, surely, but the thought still nagged him.

She went silently still for a few moments, but he could feel her arms tighten around him as did the leg she had thrown over his waist. She brought him as close to her body as she possibly could.

"Say it one more time," she sobbed against his neck, her small body trembling between his massive arms. "In case I'll never hear it again after tonight."

"I love you, Celeste."


	34. Chapter 34

Women and children and those unfit to fight were to sit in the crypts of Winterfell until the battle was over, but whether it was won or lost was still unknown. No noise was heard from the outside, so those confined to the damp and dim crypts were calm and silent. The children, innocent of what was occurring, sat near their mothers and played with toys or simply fell asleep on their mothers' laps.

Celeste had wrapped Eloise against her chest with a long sheet. Eloise was fast asleep, her round cheeks flushed from the suffocating heat the crypts provided. She brushed the curls from her forehead and kissed her gently.

She looked up when she heard footsteps and saw Lord Tyrion approaching her. He was Queen Daenerys' advisor—the Hand of the Queen—and wore all black and the familiar pin that depicted his status on his lapel. He swigged at a canteen, and Celeste knew that by the smell it was wine. "I believe the last time we spoke was just before the Battle of the Blackwater."

"Indeed," she nodded, smiling at the memory. "I remember Sansa promised to pray for your safety just as she would for King Joffrey."

"And you remarked she was probably wishing for my immediate death," he chuckled. He pointed at the empty seat beside her and she nodded, watching him hop onto the stone bench. He drank from the canteen again and offered it to her, but she refused with a shake of her head. He sighed softly, "We have that in common, you and I—our marriages were arranged against our wills."

"You and Sandor aren't too different, either," Celeste pointed out. "You both refused to consummate the marriage if we were unwilling to do so."

"Oh? And what of—"

"That was all a ruse," she laughed, and Tyrion joined her. "I played King Joffrey's court like a fiddle."

"That you did, my lady," Tyrion chuckled. "But you grew to love the Hound, as he grew to love you."

"He'd be mortified if he knew he was being so obvious," Celeste joked. Tyrion; however, did not share her amusement and only lowered his gaze. There was more to his weight to his words, and it was clear the man had regrets. "What troubles you, Lord Tyrion?"

"Sansa was nothing but a girl back then, and she didn't deserve to be married to someone like me," he admitted gently. "But little did I know, being married to me was keeping her safe. I heard what that Bolton bastard did to her, and it boils my blood to think he hurt her in such a way."

Celeste and Sansa had tea this morning while Sandor went to pester Gendry about his axe, and Arya was presumably scouting or lurking about. While Sansa did not go into detail, Celeste knew what the young woman was alluding to.

"_He broke me," _Sansa had said_. "For a time." _

"As I said, you and Sandor are more alike than you'd think," Celeste looked down at Eloise as she spoke. "You hide your good hearts behind vices you hope will push others away; it takes a special person to see past the superficial appearance you or others have set up to define you."

Tyrion remained silent for a few seconds before he let out a chuckle, "When did you become such a philosopher?"

"I just observe when you believe you are not being observed," she replied truthfully. "And I believe you would make a good husband if given the chance."

"_If _being the very important word," he swigged his canteen again.

Sansa came down to the crypts a while later and judging by the look of horror hiding in the blueness of her eyes, Celeste could only assume the battle outside had begun and it was not going as planned. Tyrion also saw the subtle message in Sansa's eyes and merely took a large gulp of wine in response.

* * *

"Did you tell him?" Sansa asked softly. They sat underneath a candelabra of flickering candles attached to a stone pillar. It felt as though they'd been down in the crypts for hours, but Celeste knew it was for less than that. Thirty minutes perhaps—possibly less. The anticipation and bone-chilling fear and the occasional sound of heavy footsteps or unintelligible shouting made even the shortest minute last an eternity.

"Yes," she nodded, touching Eloise's cheek. Her heart fluttered when she felt her daughter's warm breath against her fingertips. "He was thrilled."

"It will no doubt make him fight harder to come back to you," Sansa looked up but stared at nothing in particular. "I think back to the time you both saved me from those men during the riots; sometimes I wonder if he came back for you, or for me, or for both of us."

"Sandor hates the concept of knighthood, but he unknowingly thinks himself one," Celeste smiled. "He puts his life at risk for those he feels are wronged, or for those he feels can't protect themselves. He taught me how to use a dagger in case men tried to rape and kill me."

Sansa reached into her cloak and pulled out a beautifully made dragonglass dagger. The polished blade shone against the dimness of the crypts like a dark lake might mirror the moon. She twirled the blade absentmindedly before holding it out to her, "Arya gave me this, but I haven't a clue how to use it. I believe it would be better if you have it."

"I'd be surprised if I can manage to kill someone with Eloise in my arms," Celeste tried to joke, but her tone betrayed her nervousness as she took the blade. It was lighter than she thought it would be. "I'm much like you, Sansa; I am inclined to ladylike pursuits and I constantly scolded Arya for her behavior when we traveled—though I will admit I found it endearing after a while," she laughed breathlessly. "But you are the Lady of Winterfell, and even if you marry, you will still hold that title; you should consider learning how to use weapons to defend yourself."

"If we live past tonight, I promise I will learn," Sansa nodded, and Celeste was happy to see a childlike gleam in those bright blue eyes. "Though I fear I'll be a dreadful student."

Celeste laughed but it slowly dissolved when she saw the spark leave the young woman's eyes and drift off to scan the crypt. To her mild shock, they came to rest on Lord Tyrion as he sat beside Lord Varys. Their conversation was too hushed to distinguish any words exchanged between them.

"You know, he regrets not being a better husband to you," Celeste admitted.

"He wasn't much of a husband in the first place," Sansa shrugged. "We rarely spoke, and we never consummated our marriage."

"Like my own," Celeste pointed out. "And now I've had a child and carry another and dread the thought of Sandor failing to return to me."

"I suppose I also have regrets," Sansa admitted. "I wish I would've made an effort to know him."

"I think you'd make each other very happy if you'd give each other a chance," Celeste told her. Sansa looked surprised by this, and Celeste continued, "You both have been through horrors, and sometimes, only people who bear scars can understand the scars of others."

"Is that how you came to love Sandor?"

"I came to love him after I managed to sneak my way under his skin and see who he truly was," Celeste smiled at the thought. "And he came to love me because no one ever made the effort to see past his viciousness; his defenses crumbled beyond his control."

"You should be a war strategist," Sansa joked lightly.

"Heavens no," Celeste scoffed. "I'd say I'm more of a matchmaker."

* * *

The undead breached the castle walls, and it was evident by the muffled noises they'd hear: the scattering of bones, the stomping footsteps, the agonized shouting, the barking of orders, the inhuman, high-pitched shrieks, swords clanking, the distinct cry of Queen Daenerys' dragons. The crypts would shake occasionally from the force of the stampedes occurring above their heads.

And then there was an eerie silence. It made the hairs on the back of Celeste's neck stand on end and her heart pound against her ribcage. She had to remind herself not to hold Eloise too tightly for she might suffocate her.

Gurgling growls broke the tense silence, but to everyone's horror, they were not muffled like those that came from above. They were within the crypts, and when the stone graves and walls began to burst apart and reveal the undead corpses of deceased Stark ancestors, chaos ensued. Screams and children's cries made Celeste's ears ring and the sounds only seemed to aggravate the undead. They were fast and they lunged towards them, chasing them down indiscriminately.

Celeste drew the dragonglass dagger Sansa gave her and gripped it to the point she thought her fingers would snap at the joints. Her blood was running hot in her chest but iced the rest of her body as if it were ice water that ran through her veins. Bile rose to her throat when the animated corpse of a woman devoured the face of a helpless teenage girl, blood splattered the stone walls and the floor.

She tried to keep her breathing steady. She tried to prevent her tears from blurring her sight. She scanned the crypts for Sansa, for Tyrion, for any children left alone and frightened amidst the mayhem. The dark crevice she tucked herself into was cold and rough, despite the layers she wore. She feared Eloise would wake with bruises on her skin from how tightly Celeste was holding her.

Her stomach dropped when she heard a hiss from behind her, right next to her ear. It was only until she felt the searing sting of pain against the side of her face and the warmth of her own blood did she realize she'd been cornered.

* * *

Sandor let his lungs fill themselves with air the moment he stepped out of that room. He didn't even notice the red priestess Melisandre had drifted away from his side. The corpses of their men—Stark bannermen, Unsullied, Dothraki, Wildlings—lay scattered among the bones of the undead. They all dropped as if their strings had been cut just as the sun began to rise over Winterfell. The battle was over, and they, against all odds, won the bloody thing.

Sandor regained his senses bit by bit and began to take in his surroundings as wounded and exhausted men began to sit on the ground, others laughing in complete shock, others just sitting and staring at nothing with not so much as a spark in their eyes.

_Celeste._

Sandor hurried through the courtyard, pushing anyone that got in his way. He shouted at what he correctly assumed was a Stark bannermen, demanding to point him in the direction of the crypts. The man did so, and Sandor ran. He avoided the bodies of dead men and weaved through pillars and ruins of the mighty castle until he finally began making his way down the steps leading down to the crypts. Upon entering the chamber, he was met by the sight of all the women and children of Winterfell, wide-eyed and horrified and pale, with Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion, and Lord Varys, standing at the head of it all.

"Where is she?" Sandor barked. Some of the women cowered, but Lady Sansa did not. She turned her head to the left and Sandor followed her gaze.

Sitting on a stone bench was his wife and his sleeping daughter swaddled in her arms. Her braid was nearly undone, and her hair was frizzed, making her look frantic. She met his gaze, the skin under her brilliant blue eyes dark and her complexion pale as she held a handkerchief completely soaked in blood against her cheek. Sandor rushed to her, kneeling in front of her and taking her wrist gently in his hand. He pulled it away and his heart shattered when she winced in pain.

A deep cut began at the corner of her mouth and curved up to finish at her cheekbone. Flakes of dried blood stained her jawline and neck and her tears mixed into the wound that would no doubt leave behind a scar.

Sandor felt his eyes burn as he reached into his pocket and pull out the handkerchief Celeste had embroidered with his house sigil. He pressed it against her cheek, the blood soaking it immediately, and he had to hold back a sob bubbling in his throat when her hand covered his own.

"Now I'm truly a Clegane," she tried to smile, but winced at the pain that shot through her face. Sandor rolled his eyes at the thought, but she spoke before he could. "Don't worry; I fucking killed that thing."

"That's my woman," he couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a fucking Clegane through and through."

Eloise suddenly cooed and stirred, opening her eyes and yawning away the deep sleep that took her the entire night. Celeste looked down at her daughter and smiled through her pain. "Let's hope she's not frightened of me."

"She wasn't scared of me; I doubt she'd be scared of you, woman."


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note: For the next few weeks, I will be on vacation and will not be able to post. Thank you for your patience, support, and kind words! I appreciate it!**

* * *

The survivors of the battle stood at the front of the gates of Winterfell, watching as torches were lit and held at the ready to burn the dead. Celeste was devastated to hear Beric perished in the battle, letting himself be killed in order to let Sandor and Arya escape the undead. Ser Jorah and the heir of his house, Lyanna Mormont, were also killed, as was Theon Greyjoy who guarded Bran Stark.

Celeste's wound stopped bleeding some time ago, and luckily, the maester said stitches were not necessary. She was bandaged and sent on her way. It stung, and she could barely move her face muscles, but Celeste was happy Eloise was not frightened of her. The baby girl looked more curious than anything, and would even try to reach for her, but Celeste would stop her before she could. It hurt to all seven hells.

She stood at Sandor's side, occasionally raising her hand to wipe a tear the escaped her eyes. Sandor stood with grim expression, and Eloise, sensing the tension in the air, only cooed occasionally as she rested her cheek on her father's broad shoulder. Jon Snow spoke to them all, telling them with a wavering voice that those who died in this battle are to be remembered and honored for generations, for they were the shields that guarded the realms of men. Their debt to mankind will never be repaid, and with that, gave the signal to burn the dead. Plumes of grey smoke rose to the skies and the smell of burning flesh spread for miles.

Everyone drank and ate their sorrows away. After all, they won a battle that they surely would've lost if it wasn't for Arya sneaking up on the Night King and killing him with a single stab in the gut.

"Wine," Sandor held the goblet in front of Eloise. The toddler, sitting on the tabletop, cocked her head in confusion. He repeated, "Say it: _wine_."

"Can you teach her something worthwhile for once?" Celeste laughed, bringing her spoonful of stew to her lips.

"Wine is very important," Sandor insisted.

"There you are, dog!" Tormund suddenly appeared and squeezed himself into the bench before them. In his hand was a horn filled to the brim with ale, which he gulped at and spilled over his ginger beard. Sandor was not pleased by his presence, and her husband's annoyance made her giggle silently.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Heard your wife killed a couple of those undead fuckers," he shifted his blue eyes from Sandor to Celeste. He winked suggestively, "I like my women fearless."

"Just because you didn't die last night doesn't mean you're immortal," Sandor growled. "I'll rip your—"

"He's trying to annoy you, Sandor," Celeste patted his arm to calm him. Reducing her husband's rage to a simmer, she turned to Tormund. "And what of the big woman you spoke so fondly of? Didn't you say she was in here in Winterfell?"

Tormund's face fell sadly. Sandor chuckled and leaned into Celeste's ear to whisper, "For once I know something you don't, woman; the big woman's Brienne of Tarth."

"Brienne?" Celeste gasped. "Well, where is she? Go to her and make her swoon like I taught you!"

"You taught him _what_?" Sandor asked, dodging his daughter's hands as they reached for his hair. His confusion on the matter was largely ignored.

"She's with that Lannister cunt!" Tormund lapped at his horn of ale sorrowfully.

"Lord Tyrion?"

"No, the one who fucks his sister!"

"Oh, Ser Jaime," Celeste nodded slowly in understanding. She craned her neck to scan the crowd and it didn't take long to find Brienne of Tarth's bright blonde hair. She was sitting at a table with the Lannister brothers and her squire, Podrick Payne. By the look in Brienne's big blue eyes, she looked entirely captivated by the older Lannister.

"Wait here," Celeste stood abruptly from her chair. Sandor didn't even get the chance to call out to her; she was already half-way through the crowd. She approached the table she had her sights on and when the occupants look up at her quizzically, she leaned down towards Brienne. "Could I speak to you? It's quite important."

"Certainly, my lady," she quickly stood to her full height and dutifully followed Celeste to a less crowded area of the dining hall. She looked rightfully confused. "Is something wrong, my lady?"

"Nothing wrong with _me_," she shook her head. "I only wonder on your thoughts of Tormund."

"The Wildling?" her broad shoulders tensed at the thought. "I can't seem to shake him off; he doesn't understand I want nothing to do with him."

"Have you ever considered that he might just want to impress you?"

"He has an odd way of doing so."

"Well, it's genuine, I can assure you," Celeste laughed at the thought. Tormund was all-around a very strange man and a bit off his hinges.

"And you know him well enough to attest to that?" she asked in disbelief.

"When I was in Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he spoke endlessly of you," she told her. "He said the sweetest things about you."

"Like what?" she scoffed. "I can't possibly imagine anything sweet coming from a man like _that_."

"He said you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and that he wished that he could make you smile so that your eyes can sparkle like stars," Celeste lied through her teeth. Tormund actually went on and on about how their children would be great big monsters and how interesting it would be to fuck a woman that size. The last bit Celeste added; however, was all true, "He also told me that if you were his wife, he wouldn't look upon another woman for as long as he lives."

That seemed to genuinely surprise her, and she shifted in discomfort. "I still think he's dishonorable and vulgar."

"Dishonorable? He swore his loyalty to Jon Snow, and he was willing to die out there for the future of Westeros, a land that isn't even his own," Celeste pointed out. "He _is_ vulgar, I'll admit that; but so was my husband, and look at him now."

Celeste pointed with her forefinger and Brienne followed it to set her eyes on Sandor, holding a spoon in one hand and his goblet in another as he hit the spoon against the rim. The sound it made was inaudible to Brienne and Celeste over the shouting of the crowd, but it was clear whatever noise rang from it made Eloise hiccup with laughter. Sandor laughed with her.

"I'm not telling you to go into the nearest sept and marry him," Celeste told her as she watched Brienne's blonde eyebrows furrow in thought. "But sometimes it takes a bit of effort to really see someone's heart, and those unwilling to put in the extra work oftentimes ignore the jewel hidden in the stone in favor of the very tempting and easily obtainable gold."

Celeste hoped Brienne would grasp her meaning and thankfully, the tall woman seemed moved by her words. She finally spoke, "I'll speak to him."

"Excellent!" Celeste took Brienne by the hand and led her to the table where her husband and daughter were sitting with Tormund across from them. The Wildling's eyes lit up at the sight of Brienne towering above them. Celeste was pleased to see his expression lighten as she scooped Eloise into her arms and patted Sandor's back, "Let's go have ourselves a walk in the courtyard, Sandor."

Her husband didn't argue and followed her as she made her way towards the exit. They both turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of Brienne uneasily sitting in front of Tormund, who looked like an excited schoolboy.

"I don't know how you do it, woman," Sandor mused.

* * *

That night in their candlelit bedchamber, Celeste set Eloise down in her wicker basket. The baby girl stirred a bit but remained asleep after cooing drowsily. Celeste kissed her forehead and went for the small mirror on the room to change her bandages. She winced upon doing so but was happy to see there was no sign of festering.

She was quite shocked Sandor didn't insist on helping her and when she turned to look at him, she could see why. He was distracted, sitting on an armchair in the room looking into the dancing flames in the hearth.

"What's wrong?"

He grunted in response, and Celeste insisted, "Sandor."

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," he told her.

"Leaving where?" Celeste was stunned. She didn't expect that reply.

"King's Landing," he stood from the armchair. "I'm going to kill my brother."

Celeste's jaw unhinged and seeing her shocked reaction, he explained further, "That fucking bastard is still out there, and if he's still out there, he's a threat to you and to our children."

"Sandor, there are men like him and possibly even worse out in the world already—"

"There's no one worse than him, Celeste."

"That may be true, but you can't just_ leave_," Celeste said firmly. "You have a wife and a daughter, and another child on the way."

"That's the fucking point!"

Celeste didn't like that he raised his voice at her, and she yelled right back, "You will _not_ go to that blasted city to kill that monster you have for a brother! What if you're killed? What of me and the children, then? I almost lost you last night!"

"I won't fucking die!"

"And if you do?" her wound was stinging on her face, or perhaps it was the tears that flowed into it. "Then what? I become a widow and be forced to tell our children their father left them for some stupid vengeance?"

"_Stupid?_" he growled and pointed at his burned face. "_This_ is stupid, woman?"

"And this?" she pointed at her own scar. "I got this protecting my children! I want them to at least know their mother because I didn't know if their father was returning to them!"

Eloise began to cry from the ruckus. That abruptly ended their argument and Celeste swiftly turned on her heel to take the wailing child into her arms. She didn't turn around when she heard the door of the bedchamber open and slam shut.

* * *

The cold air bit into his skin, reminding him bitterly of the time he spent beyond the Wall.

_She almost lost me then, too._

Sandor stood on one of the many walls overlooking Winterfell. He could see the piles of ashes where the bodies burned all day, some embers distinguishable in the darkness. He sighed, and the cold air created a white mist of his breath. His yelling gave him a massive headache, and he craved wine like a madman.

"I never knew Celeste could yell like that," a soft voice spoke through the bitter cold. "It's quite frightening."

Sandor turned to see Sansa approaching him in her fine black gown and fur cloak. He rolled his eyes, "She's got a set of fucking lungs in her, that woman."

"Would you mind telling me what that was about?" Sansa asked, moving to stand at his side and look out into the field where the bodies of the dead were burned. "It must be very serious to have Celeste sound so fierce."

"He wants to go to King's Landing and kill his brother."

Sandor rolled his eyes as he turned his head in the opposite direction to see Arya. Apparently, sneaking up on a man undetected ran in the Stark family. He groaned, "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"That wouldn't be very wise," Sansa said. "Celeste is with child again."

"Is she?" Arya gasped. She was standing at Sandor's left side now. He was flanked by the two Stark girls speaking to each other as if he wasn't there. "I didn't know!"

"She told me yesterday morning when you were off doing who knows what."

"I don't like sitting around and having tea—that's boring."

"Will you two fuck off?" he scowled at them, but neither of them were frightened of him.

"Vengeance is good the moment you fulfill it," Sansa admitted. "I set hounds on Ramsay and they devoured him; it felt good to see it happen, but then you feel nothing. It's an empty feeling."

"That's because you didn't know him all your life like I know my brother," Sandor scoffed.

"Sansa's right," Arya looked up at him. "I killed Walder Frey and his sons out of revenge for killing my mother and brother at the Red Wedding. It felt good to do it because they deserved to die, but the feeling goes away just as quickly."

"I can't believe I'm being lectured by two fucking girls," he rolled his eyes. "I told you both to fuck off."

"Daenerys has every intention of marching south and sacking King's Landing," Sansa said. "And we all know what happens when Targaryens fly into King's Landing with dragons."

"They burn it all down," Arya recalled her history lessons. "You're still afraid of fire, aren't you?"

"Did Celeste send you both out here to fucking annoy me?" he asked incredulously.

"You'll always have a home here, Sandor," Sansa told him. "You and Celeste, and your children. Please don't upset her by leaving."

"If you don't leave then I won't either," Arya suddenly said. When Sandor and Sansa eyed her in confusion, she explained further, "Cersei is left on my list; I planned to leave in the morning as well but considering the city might be ashes by the time we get there, I'll consider staying if you do."

"For fuck's sake," Sandor dipped his head in mild annoyance. He hated to admit these stupid girls were right. His vengeance was worth nothing if he couldn't come back to Celeste or Eloise or the child he had yet to meet. All he's done up to this point has been for the benefit of his family's future: venturing beyond the Wall to bring back proof, going into enemy territory for a parley that ended up in broken promises, fighting in a battle against the undead coming for them.

All three times, Celeste could've lost him, but she let him go because there was no other choice. The worst of the fighting was over now and going to kill his brother was a fight he was bring upon himself rather than one he cannot avoid.

Sandor turned around and went for the door leading into the castle and after walking through endless corridors, he reached the door of his bedchamber. He hesitated for a moment but swallowed his pride and walked inside.

Celeste was laying on the bed underneath the blankets facing away from him. Sandor shut the door silently and carefully walked inside. He peeked over Eloise's wicker basket to see his beautiful daughter fast asleep. He kicked his boots off, taking care to make absolutely no noise, and slipped under the covers. He uneasily pressed himself against his wife's warm body and let his arm rest over her, his hand caressing her still flat belly. She wasn't asleep, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry, woman," he muttered against her shoulder. "I won't leave you."

"I'm still angry with you, Sandor," she replied firmly.

"You want me to go and bring you a flower?"

Celeste burst into laughter and Sandor joined her, managing to say, "I'll fucking do it if you want me to."

"I should make you go out there in the cold to find me a flower," she looked over her shoulder at him. It pained him to see the cut marking her face for life but seeing her like this with her reddish curls a mess on her head and her deep blue eyes and her lovely smile, it almost made him wonder what the fuck he was thinking to leave her in favor of killing his brother.

"I love you," he told her. "Fucking hell, I love you."

"I love you too, my enormous oaf," she pressed his lips to his, and their kiss was soft and light. When it dissolved, she hummed, "Instead of the flower, could we just…?"

"I almost forgot how you get when you've got a bairn in you," he smirked suggestively. "We're going to have at least five kids, you hear?"

"Heavens," Celeste laughed. "That'd be quite the achievement."


	36. Epilogue Part 1

**Author's Note: Thank you for your patience! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Sixteen Years Later_

The afternoon sun blazed in the clear blue sky, making the green of the fields more vibrant and stunning to the eye. It was all perfectly aligned, so much so, one could measure it with a ruler and have perfect symmetry. Each thin trunk naturally grew up, its twisting arms and tendrils clinging to the wooden stakes hammered into the soil side by side. Even from far, one could see that among the shrubs of the miniature canopies intertwined in the stakes, bunches of deep royal purple were tucked underneath them.

"Are we picking them tonight?" Eloise asked. If looked upon quickly, some might say Eloise was her mother with those piercing blue eyes and soft features, but her unruly dark brown hair cascading over her back free as the wind always gave her away. Unlike ladies her age that wore flowing gowns of fine silks, she wore riding clothes: knee-high leather boots, breeches, and a loose-fitting shirt with a leather jacket. It was quite the irony her mother was capable of creating the most beautiful of gowns, but her eldest daughter preferred the attire of boys.

"We'll let them sit for a day or two more," Sandor bit into a roll of bread and cheese. The years hadn't changed him much: he was still big and frightening, and his grim expression was set in stone. His beard has never left his jaw, but the hair that once fell in long curtains over his face was now slicked back and tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore a long-sleeved shirt underneath a leather vest his wife embroidered with the new Clegane sigil, a single hound looking up at the north star on a yellow background. He took a second bite of his bread and cheese. "They're not as ripe as I'd like them to be."

"Ever the perfectionist," Eloise laughed, and the sudden sound made her mare snort in response. Every day at around the same time, they sat here on their horses on top of this hill overlooking the Clegane vineyards. They stretched for acres and dotting each row were their workers checking on the grapes, watering them, swatting any insects that might be eating away at them, and trimming any dead branches.

The sound of galloping hooves made Sandor and Eloise turn their heads in its direction. Rory was riding up the hill in his pure white stallion, the third generation to be bred from a stallion and mare given to House Clegane by the Queen in the North. He was a ridiculously handsome young man with a charming smile that had the ladies of the nearby village giggling and blushing at the sight of it, and if he happened to wink, they'd swoon every time. At sixteen, he's already grown to his full towering height rivaling his father's, and his shoulders and arms were just as massive. His wavy reddish hair went down to his shoulders and the curls of his fringe brushed over his dark brown eyes. The shadow of a beard was starting to dust his cheeks and jawline.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Sandor scowled.

Rory reared his horse to stand next to his father's. "I had to go into town—"

"He was off green-gowning the blacksmith's daughter," Eloise leaned forward on her horse to meet her little brother's eyes on the other side of Sandor, smirking wickedly.

"I was not!" Rory scoffed, though the blush on his high cheekbones gave him away.

"If the blacksmith comes to kill you, I'm not stepping in," Sandor rolled his eyes and ate the last of his bread and cheese. "You deserve what's coming to you."

Eloise stuck her tongue out at him, and he glared in annoyance. Sandor, having grown far too accustomed to the constant bickering between them, simply urged his horse forward with a light nudge of his boots. He heard their horses begin to follow him down the hill.

"Will we pick the grapes tonight?" Rory asked.

"If you'd been here earlier, you'd know," Eloise sang in a sing-song voice.

"I wasn't talking to you, you cow!"

"Papa, Rory called me a cow!"

"Moo!"

Sandor sighed heavily but didn't stop them as they continued firing insults at each other. He'll never understand how his two eldest children always acted so immature. He remembered how Rory would ruin Eloise's dolls by drawing moustaches and thick eyebrows on them with ink he'd take from Sandor's desk, or how Eloise would retaliate by taking shit from the horse's stables and stuffing them into his boots. It was a chore controlling these two brats when they were in the same room together, and they wouldn't hold back in his presence. Around Celeste; however, they were perfect angels—when their mother ordered the horseplay to stop, they'd stand straight up like soldiers being approached by their commander.

"My lord!" one of his workers greeted him as he neared the courtyard of Clegane's Keep. He was jumping off the horse-drawn carriage headed for the cellar where barrels of Clegane wine were stored for the aging process. He patted one of those said barrels, one of ten, stacked in the back of the carriage. "Would you like a sample?"

"Aye," he dismounted his horse and turned to look at his son. "Do something useful and take him to the stables, Rory."

"Yes, do something useful, Rory," Eloise baited him.

Sandor ignored them entirely and watched his worker draw a rich, violet wine from the barrel and into a tin cup. He handed it to Sandor, who tilted his head back to drink. It was sweet and dry and tangy with a little something else that gave it just the right touch, and the kick of the alcohol was just as he liked it: strong. That's what made Clegane wine distinct, and it was the best kept secret in Westeros.

"It's fucking perfect," Sandor nodded, and it amused him to see his worker light up at the compliment. He handed him the cup. "Remember to label the barrels."

"Of course, my lord," he nodded eagerly with a smile. Sandor never thought he'd see the day when people would be so proud to work for him and enjoy doing so with every fiber of their being. It was surreal, even after so many years.

"Papa!"

Sandor turned to see his two youngest daughters running towards him. Leila was born four years after Rory, making her twelve years old. Her wavy mousey brown hair was braided neatly against her head, and her big blue eyes sparkled as she hurried towards him, her simple gown flowing around the broken-in leather boots she wore. Walking alongside her holding her hand was her little sister, Ciara, who was hugging her doll against her chest with her free arm. Out of all his daughters, Ciara looked the most like him with her big dark brown eyes and dark brown hair that curled around her head, but those pinkish cheeks and long lashes resembled Eloise and Leila's when they were five years old.

"Mama says lunch is ready," Leila told him before urging Ciara with a gentle tug of her hand. "What did mama say to tell papa?"

Again, Ciara was the most like him and that also extended to temperament. At her age, Sandor was shy and withdrawn but very affectionate when she was around those that loved her. Sandor reached down and scooped her up in his arms. "What did mama say?"

"Mama said we're having chicken for lunch," she said and giggled when Sandor kissed her cheek, tickling her with his beard. As he did so, Eloise and Rory snuck up from behind Leila. Rory grabbed the girl's sides suddenly and she shrieked in surprise, but it dissolved into laughter when Rory swooped her into the air and had her sit on his shoulder.

Over the years, the Clegane towerhouse was remodeled and rebuilt as revenue from the vineyards began to increase. It now had bigger kitchens, the dining room stretched twice as long as it did before with an equally large hearth and a chandelier of candles, more bedrooms were added, and of course extra washrooms with tubs and vanity mirrors were a precise demand from Celeste. Windows were always open, letting in the cool breeze and bright sunlight. Each tapestry and curtain and banner that decorated their home was personally designed and sewn by Celeste, as were the intricate embroideries of the chair cushions and table cloths. Some were done by Leila, and even at her age, her work was becoming indistinguishable from her mother's—she took after her in many aspects.

"I knew you'd all come quickly if chicken was mentioned," Celeste joked when she saw everyone enter the dining room at once. One wouldn't know sixteen years had gone by and that she'd birthed four beautiful children—Celeste was just as radiant, just as lovely, just as delicate and beautiful. At least she was to Sandor, so perhaps he wasn't the best judge on his wife's appearance over the years. Like she'd done once before many years ago, Celeste cut her hair just above her small shoulders and her eyes still sparkled like jewels against her flawless skin. The scar she received during the Battle of Winterfell had long healed, only leaving behind a thin, white line on her cheek. She also returned to wearing gowns she designed herself and Sandor can't help but think she's taken on the role of Lady Clegane with much more grace than he has—he's still shocked to hear people call him _Lord Sandor_ or _my lord_.

"We're picking the fields in a few days," Sandor began. "Grapes aren't ripe enough."

"They're never ripe enough for you, Sandor," Celeste laughed, but suddenly winced. Her hand immediately rubbed her swollen belly. Sandor never tired of admiring how beautiful his wife looked when she was with child; she glowed like the star on the Clegane house sigil. "This little rascal has been kicking me in the ribs all day."

"He's just saying hello, mama," Leila joked as she helped Ciara into her chair before taking the seat next to hers at the dining table.

"Let us all pray that Leila is right, and we'll finally have a brother!" Eloise jabbed with a smirk. "Papa isn't very good at making boys."

"Moo!" Rory spat, tugging at her unruly hair for emphasis.

"Do you two want to end the day without supper?" Celeste asked sharply, but her smile didn't leave her features. The contrast between her tone and her mildly cheerful expression was frightening. Sandor couldn't help but chuckle as he took his seat at the head of the table. His two eldest children straightened their backs as if they'd swallowed stone pillars.

"No mama; sorry," they both muttered in unison. When Rory stifled a grunt, Sandor knew Eloise kicked him under the table.


	37. Epilogue Part 2

"Sometimes I think Lord Tyrion summons us just to bring him wine."

"Among other things," Sandor drawled, snapping the reins of the horses to keep them trudging up the path. From the corner of his eye, he saw his son rummaging through his rucksack for a moment before he found what he was looking for. "You're going to share some of that?"

"Mama packed this for _me_," Rory spat lightly, holding up a salted chicken thigh. "Get your bloody own!"

"You won't have any fucking teeth to eat it with if you keep whinging," Sandor threatened. When he turned his head to meet his son's eyes, their heated stare quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter. Rory handed him the chicken thigh before grabbing the second one Celeste packed for him—and for Sandor. Sandor bit into it, "Are you really fucking the blacksmith's daughter?"

"Not yet," Rory let out a frustrated grunt. "Her father's watching us like a hawk."

"As he fucking should," Sandor scoffed. "Get a whore if you need to, but don't go around fucking the villagers' daughters because then your mother and I have to clean up after your fucking disasters."

"Like you didn't fuck everyone in King's Landing when you worked for the Lannisters," Rory rolled his eyes.

"Is that what you heard?"

"I just assume."

"You're wrong," Sandor snapped the reigns again. "I had a whore from time to time, but your mother was my first."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You'll get it one day, but you're too young and stupid right now," Sandor chuckled at how irritated his son seemed to be with his vague answers. Sandor let out a soft sigh, "What else have you heard about me?"

Rory hesitated, and Sandor knew because he chewed his mouthful of chicken slowly. He swallowed thickly before replying, "That you killed a lot of people."

"That's true."

"That's hard to believe, considering you braid Leila's hair and play dollhouse with Ciara," Rory scoffed. "I remember before they were born when it was just Eloise and I, we'd fall asleep on you in that big chair in the library by the fireplace."

"It's been a long time, and I won't deny killing is the sweetest thing a man can do," Sandor shrugged. "Westeros is at peace right now, so pray you'll never have to see war in your lifetime; too much death makes you bitter like it did to me."

Sandor nevertheless taught his children how to handle weapons and fight. Leila and Ciara were still too young to train, but Eloise and Rory were taught the basics. Eloise preferred using daggers and enjoyed archery, while Rory enjoyed sparring with his father using broadswords. He was a natural, and Sandor knew it was the Clegane blood in him—the Clegane blood that can turn very deadly if left unchecked.

"Are you listening to me?"

"You fucking talk too much, Rory," Sandor teased; he really wasn't paying attention. Rory huffed, tossing his bare chicken bone into the grass nearby as they kept riding in their horse-drawn carriage up the trail. The sun was nearly at its peak in the sky, but the puffy clouds did them the favor of blocking out its intense light. First it was too cold, and now it was too hot, Sandor thought in annoyance.

It wasn't long before the vast stronghold of Casterly Rock came into view. It was carved out from the very rock of the valley it stood in, and it could be seen from the nearby port town of Lannisport. It hadn't changed much over the years: the Lannister lion banners still stood on every wall and pillar, farmers and masons and traders went in and out of the castle gates with their carriage full of goods to sell and barter. Entering Casterly Rock's main courtyard was easy enough; the soldiers that guarded the interior gate knew Sandor had unlimited access.

"I'll start rolling the barrels out," Rory jumped off their carriage just as Sandor halted the horses. By the time Sandor hauled himself off the carriage and turned around, Rory already had all four barrels of wine on the courtyard. He was proud that his only son inherited his strength.

"At last!"

Tyrion Lannister appeared in the courtyard dressed in the dark red and gold colors of his house. He no longer wore the Hand of the King pin for he retired from the position not long ago. Now he lived a peaceful life of traveling to and from the North, telling his sons stories of his life—most of them were heavily exaggerated—and drinking Clegane wine.

"Four barrels, just as you ordered," Rory grinned. "I take it you're leaving for the North soon?"

"In a few days," Tyrion inspected the barrels which were only a tad shorter than him. "I need something to last me the arduous trip _and_ my stay in Winterfell."

Some servants approached them and began to haul the barrels inside the castle. Rory hoisted one onto his shoulder and was following them inside when Sandor called out to him, "Try to keep it in your trousers, Rory."

"I will!"

When he was out of sight, Tyrion chuckled, "That son of yours is quite the character."

"He's a pain in my arse," Sandor scoffed. He loved his son, but there were days he wanted to wring his neck. "Your boys don't give you trouble?"

"They're not old enough yet," Tyrion shrugged lightly and turned on his heel. He led the way into the castle and Sandor followed the very familiar path to the tiny Lannister's office. "And thankfully, they take after their mother."

Following the stability created by the new Westerosi government and the peace that swept the once warring nation, there wasn't much happening in society to gossip about. That is, until the Hand of the King Lord Tyrion Lannister and the Queen of the North Sansa Stark decided to remarry. Westeros erupted at the news. Was this a political move? The North was independent; did this mean they were to be integrated into Westeros once again? Lord Tyrion was much older than Sansa Stark and the last remaining Lannister; did he marry her to produce heirs for House Lannister, or did he marry her simply because she was young and beautiful? Was Sansa Stark pressured and forced into marrying the dwarf? Who in their right mind _would_ marry a dwarf?

None of it mattered, and Sandor knew Celeste had everything to do with the unlikely union. He never asked her how she did it, but Celeste was incredibly proud when they received the invitation to the wedding. Sandor vividly remembered Celeste was visibly pregnant with Leila, and Eloise and Rory loved playing in the snow at Winterfell, and how they'd shower Sandor with snowballs when he wasn't paying attention. Eloise and Rory were always bickering, but they always came together when it meant pranking him—they've always been mischievous little shits.

"I've left the ledger here for you—I've balanced it until next month," Tyrion patted the leather-bound book on the large desk, "For your convenience of course; your fifth child will be born any day now no?"

"Any day now," Sandor nodded.

"Do you want more daughters, or another son?"

"If he'll be anything like the arseache I'm already dealing with now, I'd rather have a daughter," Sandor scoffed. "Celeste thinks it's a son—she insists on it."

"Sansa's been correct both times," Tyrion reached for the wine pitcher on the nearby table and poured it into two glasses. "Perhaps it's a womanly instinct."

Sandor took the goblet of wine from him appreciatively, swirling it and sniffing it before drinking it. This was one of his older wines—it was lighter and more fragrant than the rich and savory wine he makes now. "Are you going to have more children?"

"If Sansa insists, then I'll perform my duty to the best of my ability," Tyrion joked lightly. "It's not like they bear my name."

"They can still inherit Casterly Rock even if they have the Stark name—_it's their birthright_, as you lords and ladies say," Sandor said. "And I won't have to run it for you anymore whenever you go off to the North."

"That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about," Tyrion tapped the rim of his goblet thoughtfully. "I'm already retired and going back and forth from Casterly Rock to the North is tiring—I spoke to Sansa about this, and she agreed that I should give you Casterly Rock."

Sandor choked on his wine. "Give me Casterly Rock? What the fuck for?"

"You've served my family honorably for many years, especially when you were Joffrey's sworn shield—how you lasted so long without killing him is beyond me," Tyrion shuddered at the memory of his nephew. "My sons and any children I have in the future will be Starks and will be loyal to the North—and I'm fine with that—but I want to keep Casterly Rock alive. Many people make their livelihoods here, and I want it to be run by someone I trust."

Sandor swallowed at the lump in his throat. "You trust me?"

"Every bad idea has a Lannister cunt behind it, and a Clegane cunt to see it through," Tyrion smiled. "There's no one else I trust more than you, Sandor."

Lord of Casterly Rock and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands—Sandor still wasn't used to being Lord of Clegane's Keep, he couldn't imagine running an entire territory.

"I have my vineyards and my family in Clegane's Keep," Sandor told him. "I can't just leave it all to take your place here."

"I completely understand," Tyrion nodded. "And if you don't want it, I'll have to find someone new—but know that Casterly Rock and the Westerlands are yours."

Sandor rode back to Clegane's Keep in a brooding silence. When Rory asked what was wrong, Sandor told him, and they shared a very deep conversation—Rory had his moments of maturity. However, his youthful naivety had him thrilled at the idea of his father running the Westerlands and the ancestral stronghold of House Lannister.

"Can you imagine? Clegane banners where Lannister banners used to fly?"

"It's not all about the banners, you know."

"But just imagine it!"

Sandor was eager to get home and speak to Celeste. She always gave the best advice, and he never made a decision without her stamp of approval. She was his voice of reason, and he didn't know if he'd ever reach the success he has today without her love and support.

"Welcome back, my lord," one of his servants greeted. To Sandor's confusion, the poor man looked absolutely spooked. Sandor stepped off the carriage and remained silent, letting the servant know he could continue speaking, "It's Lady Celeste, my lord; she's gone into labor."


	38. Epilogue Part 3

He's been through this four times already, but experience never makes it any less terrifying.

"You're driving me nuts with your pacing," Rory groaned as he slumped on the couch with his massive arms crossed over his equally massive chest. Leila sat next to him with a needle and thread in her hands and a decently long blanket on her lap. She had just finished embroidering the _C_ in Clegane and was waiting for the birth of her sibling in order to embroider the letter of his or her given name.

Sandor didn't reply and consciously stopped his dizzying strides around the drawing room. He carried Ciara in his arms, but despite having her cheek on his shoulder and slumping against him, she was not asleep. The anxiousness floating in the air was enough to keep anyone awake in anticipation.

Everyone tensed up when they heard Celeste's screams echo into the corridors.

"Leila, go check on your mother," Sandor spoke softly. "Eloise said she'd be back and it's worrying me."

Leila nodded and set aside her blanket and needles to hop off the couch and exit the room. When her footsteps dissolved into the corridor, Rory began, "Why is it we can't go in there with mama?"

"Someone once told me it's bad luck," Sandor frowned. "We've been over this."

"And you believe that?"

An echo of a scream rattled the stone walls of Clegane's Keep again, and Sandor didn't speak until only the crackling of the fireplace filled the room. "I don't—not really," Sandor adjusted Ciara in his arms. Her doll almost fell as a result, but Sandor was quick to grasp it before it hit the ground. "But I won't risk it—not with your mother."

"So you weren't there when we were born? That's cold, papa."

"I was there, you little twat," Sandor scowled, knowing his son was trying to get a rise out of him by the smirk plastered on his handsome features. "Just not in the room."

"She's asleep, so you know," Rory pointed out. Indeed, Ciara had managed to fall asleep—no wonder her doll almost fell. Sighing, Sandor carefully set her down on a nearby armchair and placed her doll in her arms. When he turned around, Rory was already by his side with Leila's unfinished blanket in his hands, ready to drape it over Ciara. Sandor watched him with gentle eyes, amazed that despite having his size and brute strength, Celeste's temperament managed to sneak its way into Rory in the most subtle of ways.

Sandor's chest tightened at the mere thought of the blood his son carried in his veins.

"I'm sure you've heard how I got this scar on my face, haven't you?" Sandor spoke so suddenly, Rory sprung up in attention. His eyes were wide and flickering, thinking of what to say next.

"When I was about Leila's age, I asked her about her scar, and about yours," he admitted. "I remember Eloise telling me it was none of my business to know—she's never really cared about what you or mama look like."

Sandor rolled his eyes in amusement. Eloise has always been a papa's girl through and through—all his daughters were, and while Rory teased him and spoke to him freely, he always hovered behind his mother's skirts. However, all his children always preferred to ask Celeste the personal and embarrassing questions, and Sandor was a bit grateful for this. He's always been shit at handling emotional situations, and when his children go to Celeste for any issue, she always tells him and keeps him in the loop of things.

"What did she say?" he knew the answer; Celeste had told him all those years ago, but he wanted to hear it from Rory.

"She told me she got her scar during the Battle of Winterfell before I was born," Rory said. "She said one of those undead surprised her from behind, but she killed it."

"She actually killed two of them; she's being humble," Sandor let out a ghost of a smile at the thought of his wife stabbing and killing something. Celeste is dainty, but she turns into a mother bear very quickly when she feels her children are at risk. "What did she say about mine?"

"She said I should ask you."

"And why haven't you?"

"I'll ask you now," Rory grinned meekly. "How'd you get it? While you worked for the Lannisters?"

"No," Sandor nodded at Ciara sound asleep on the armchair with her doll hugged against her chest. "I got it around Ciara's age—my older brother thought I stole one of his toys and he was so angry, he grabbed my head and held my face over a brazier."

Rory looked horrified, and Sandor swore he saw his dark amber eyes shine with tears. His voice was breathless, "What happened to him? Is he dead?"

"Aye, he burned to death when that Targaryen bitch turned King's Landing to ashes," Sandor said simply. "If an old friend of mine were here right now, he'd say it was divine justice."

Rory still looked mortified by the revelation and Sandor knew the thought that went through his head: _I'm related to someone like that_? Sandor clasped a hand over his son's shoulder, "I'm telling you this because your mother is sure we're having a son tonight—which means you're going to have a younger brother—"

"Aye, you're telling me this so I don't end up pushing my brother into burning braziers."

"You're nothing like Gregor, Rory; you will never be like him because you're _my_ son and because you carry your heart in your sleeve like your mother does," Sandor furrowed his brow. "If you have a brother tonight, know that he will not grow to look up to me, he will look up to _you_—never forget that."

Rory smiled softly but the tender gleam in his eyes was quickly replaced with a mischievous spark. "Is this your way of telling me I shouldn't fuck the blacksmith's daughter?"

"If you bring that up one more time, I'm going to put your fucking head through a wall."

"I love the sound of threats this late in the evening," Eloise walked into the room with a grin wider than Essos. "Especially when they're meant for Rory."

Before Rory could shoot back an insult, Sandor asked hastily, "What's happened?"

"You are now the proud father of three gorgeous daughters, a creature," Eloise gestured towards Rory, making him fume silently, "And a bouncing baby boy—looks like you're not so bad at making them after all, papa."

When they entered the room, the midwives and maids congratulated Sandor as they quickly cleaned up and left the room. Celeste was sitting against the wooden headboard cradling a bundle of blankets on the crook of her arm. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was sweat-plastered on her forehead, but Sandor never thought she'd look any more beautiful than she did now. Leila was kneeling next to her mother, looking down at the bundle with an ecstatic grin. Ciara, fully awake now, immediately ran to the bedside and Leila helped her up so she could sit beside her.

"I was right!" Celeste laughed.

"I never doubted you for a second, woman," Sandor chuckled. Eloise and Rory rushed to the bedside where Leila and Ciara were, leaning over their younger siblings to catch a look at the new member of the family. Rory was first to speak, "He's a redhead like me!"

"Let's hope he has a brain in there," Eloise nudged her brother's shoulder. Rory merely glared.

Sandor paid no mind to his children's antics and took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. He pressed a kiss to Celeste's cheek before looking down at the baby boy whose red curls stood out so vividly against the ivory blankets. Sandor could already tell this boy was going to look exactly like his mother.

"What are we naming him?" Leila asked. "I have to finish the embroidery on his blanket."

"Rory had suggested one the other day that I liked," Eloise said, to everyone's surprise. She frowned at the wide-eyed stares. "What? Rory has good ideas _sometimes._"

"Lucan," Rory smiled. "He's the traveling bard in the book mama used to read us—remember?"

"Yes, I recall there's a charming sailor in that same book named Rory," Celeste smirked knowingly and reached for Leila's cheek to pinch it playfully, making the girl blush. "And a beautiful princess named Leila." She smoothed down Ciara's curls, earning a giggle from her youngest daughter. "And her very cheeky lady-in-waiting named Ciara."

"Where did my name come from, then?" Eloise asked, genuinely curious.

"Where _did_ it come from, Sandor?" Celeste volleyed the question onto Sandor.

"I looked into a fire and it spelled out your name for me," Sandor said as if it were the most normal thing that could happen to an individual. "And your mother and I both liked it."

* * *

It was late into the night and while the rest of the Clegane children were sound asleep in their beds, Celeste and Sandor were awake with their newborn son. Already experienced from caring for four newborns before Lucan, she had him latched onto her breast before he could make a peep. As he drank his mother's milk to his heart's content, Sandor sat on a wooden chair beside the bed, recounting the events of this morning in Casterly Rock.

"I think it's very thoughtful," Celeste said, pulling her sleeve over her shoulder. "But you don't seem very enthusiastic about it."

"It's not that," Sandor shook his head as he took the bundle from her. Lucan was already sound asleep, and Sandor chuckled at seeing he looked almost drunk. It always happened to all his children right after they were breastfed, and it amused him to no end. "I never thought anyone would offer me something like that—I know Tyrion trusts me, and we've been working together to make the Westerlands profitable again on something other than Lannister gold, but this…"

"In the end, it's your choice," Celeste told him. "You'll be the one carrying that enormous title. Personally, I think you can handle that weight and there's no one else I can say will rule Casterly Rock and this region fairly and with the people's interests at heart."

"But I don't want to give up Clegane's Keep," Sandor looked down at Lucan, the baby boy curling his little fingers in his sleep. "We've raised our children here, and I can finally look upon it and see happy memories rather than Gregor killing everything in his path and making my life hell."

"Eloise runs the vineyards very well, and so does Rory whenever he's not charming the ladies in the village," Celeste pointed out. "Perhaps I can handle Clegane's Keep while they can run the vineyards, and you can go back and forth between here and Casterly Rock; it's only a two-hour carriage ride, after all."

"I suppose," Sandor looked up in thought. He could leave early in the mornings, run Casterly Rock and the region's affairs, and be home in time for supper. He could even alternate days between going to Casterly Rock and working on the vineyards. He could even start teaching Eloise and Rory how to work the more administrative aspect of the family business as well.

"Let's not focus on this now," Sandor finally found his words. "Tyrion gave me time to think about this decision, and now that we've got this little rascal, I don't want to be away from him for too long."

Celeste smiled lovingly, taking in the sight of her massive husband cradling his newborn son expertly in his arms. She remembers how nervous he was when they first had Eloise, how he was afraid he'd hold her too tight, or make her cry, or accidentally hurt her. Now, that fear he once felt was no more. "Sandor?"

"Yes?"

"We set the goal at having five children all those years ago," Celeste said this firmly, but her tone was light. "And we've achieved that goal, so the bakery is officially closed."

Sandor let out a laugh so loud, he thought he'd wake Lucan. Thankfully, the baby kept snoozing. "I think we can have two more, don't you?"

"Sandor."

"Oh fine," he chuckled. He loved teasing her. "We can do other things that are just as fun."

Celeste glared at him pointedly, but her smirk was playful. When Sandor carefully stood from his chair and sat himself next to Celeste, she immediately curled up on his side, resting her head against his shoulder. Sandor balanced Lucan on the length of one arm while the other wrapped around Celeste's small shoulders, bringing her closer to him. He buried his face into her curls, taking in the sweet scent of her flowery soap, before leaning down and taking her breath away with a deep kiss.

He wanted to thank her for loving him all these years, for standing by his side through the good times and the bad times, for giving him five beautiful children and raising them with him and giving him happiness he never thought he'd ever have in his life. He wanted to thank her for showing him he didn't have to be bitter and that he could open his heart to let others in and that it didn't always mean it would hurt him. He owed her such an enormous debt, and all he could do to repay her was to give her unconditional love for as long as he lives.

"I love you, woman," Sandor whispered to her when their kiss dissolved. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, I do," she ran her fingers through his beard. "I love you too."

**FIN.**

* * *

**Author's Note: We've finally come to the end of this tale, and I'd like to thank all my readers and followers for being so supportive and consistently leaving such kind words. Thank you for such a wonderful journey, and I wish everyone the best! **


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